A World for Us
by peoplewillsaywereinlove
Summary: Amelia Jarnette, a beautiful yet humble new maid, discovers there's more beyond the intricate walls of the grand Opera Populaire. When she encounters the Ghost in the darkness, she is introduced to the beauty of the arts and the night itself. A story of redemption, new worlds, and the truth about love. Erik/OC.
1. Arrival

Hello there! So this is my new fanfic on Phantom of the Opera with inspiration mostly from the play (and movie). The story will navigate from the Opera Populaire and change to other new locations. I would appreciate feedback, reviews, etc; I don't know if I will continue this so any feedback would be amazing! Thank you, and enjoy.

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The young woman's belongings were huddled near the wooden door of the orphanage; she only had two small bags, but she gathered all her things into them in order to move into the city. Lavern, the farmer down the road, had offered her a ride into town.

Amelia Jarnette stood around her many sisters and brothers, most of them teary eyed at their sisters departure. True, the orphans weren't related, but they had been a family for years. Amelia's parting would leave a hole in their hearts.

"Oh, but must you go? We will miss you!" a little girl proclaimed, holding on to the young woman's dress. Several other children yelled in agreement. The young woman smiled sadly.

"I have to go, dear. It's my time and I must work, too. But I will visit! Soon, it will be Christmas, and I will be home again", Amelia stated, hugging her fellow orphans tightly.

"Write to us, Amie, please!"

"Don't forget about us!"

The young woman looked around at the sad faces around her. She did not want to leave them but she had been at Coellard Orphanage past her time. The cut off point for orphans staying at the home was eighteen. Yet, her foster mother, Mrs. Coellard, took pity on Amelia, and gave her time to try and receive employment.

Amelia had written to several businesses in town, and even went to see several owners about work. She had even talked to a few maids who worked in the Opera Populaire, the grand opera house. Months passed, and no word.

The young woman's future seemed bleak. Like most of her life, she spent her days cleaning and cooking for the other orphans; she was more than good at her job, putting all her strength into what she cleaned. When night came, the children would gather around her near the only fire in the small home. They would wait patiently until she was able to take the break for the night; she would sit and tell them wondrous stories of princes and kind dragons while evil witches plotted against the humble queen. She acted out every part and even sung some parts; Amelia was not very talented in her singing, yet she was successful in making the children laugh their hearts out.

She could not dance, nor sing. But she told beautiful tales that would keep even the most troublesome child calm. Her soft amber eyes and rose colored lips accompanied her long midnight-colored curls. Both her beauty and kindness were known throughout the outskirts of the countryside; however, underprivileged, orphan maidens were not seen very suitable for marriage.

Amelia was content with her life, nevertheless. She helped in what she could around the home, and she gave hope to her brothers and sisters. Her stories gave comfort as a fire in the winter.

On a fateful morning, the young woman received a letter, adorned with an intricate stamp. The Opera Populaire was requesting a new maid (and a small interview to establish boarding and pay).

It was incredible how fast her things had been packed. She was well aware an opportunity like this would not come again. Amelia did not care if she was scrubbing floors; it was time for her to work.

"Maybe you will be a storyteller, or an actress, Amie!"

"All of Paris will know your name!"

They all believed in her with all their hearts.

Footsteps were heard approaching the living space. Mrs. Coellard looked young in her cream dress, her hair in a tight silver braid falling down her back. Her kind face showed signs of a hard life, but a kind soul.

"Are you ready, dear?" the foster woman asked kindly.

"Yes, ma'am. I am," Amelia responded, looking toward her large family. No, she would not cry. She would be strong for them.

The children hugged her one last time, and Mrs. Collard kissed her cheek softly, sending blessings in her ear.

"I will be waiting for your letter, dear. Oh! And here. This will help."

The older woman had tucked a small coin bag into Amelia's hand. It was not much, but it would afford a meal or two. The young woman tried protesting courteously but Mrs. Coellard would not have it.

They accompanied her to the hay carriage, her small belongings placed in the straw. Amelia could not hold back tears as the carriage began to move, the orphanage become smaller and smaller in the distance. The group of children waved, as Mrs. Coellard swayed her handkerchief. The sun was high in the sky as Amelia's adult life had begun.

Her heart was thumping madly as she entered the opera house lobby, passing through hoards of actors, maids, and performers. Amelia had never seen a building so magnificent, so beautiful in her life. She could not help touch the wondrous golden statues adorning the lobby, as she watched a normal day in the opera house pass before her.

She held the letter in her hand; the young woman was to wait in the lobby near noon for a certain Madam Giry.

Amelia was perfectly on time. She tried calming her nerves, reading the letter again; she patted her dress down, making sure there were not any stains or dust.

"Ahem…Miss Jarnette?"

A voice called out to her name behind her. Madam Giry was a serious woman in her fifty's, clad in a beaded black dress. Her brown eyes surveyed Amelia curiously.

"Oh, yes, good afternoon, Ma'am," Amelia responded, curtsying lowly. Madam Giry admired her attitude.

"Pleasure. I am Madam Giry, in charge of the ballet. Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Farmin are busy at the moment, so I will interview you. Any questions can be answered by me. Now, let us walk."

Amelia followed Madam Giry around the lobby staircase, asking the young woman about her life. Amelia was completely truthful, telling the woman of her experience at the orphanage and skills she had learned. Madam Giry did not need know much more information, as she had already made up her mind.

"Now, you will work in the afternoon and nighttime. After the performances, the main room and lobby need a thorough cleaning. There are other maids that will be working alongside you, of course. You will be paid by the end of the week, a franc a day. Now…"

Amelia was listening intently at the woman's words. Madame Giry stopped near a corridor near intricate stairs leading down under the opera house.

"I will assume you do not have place to live…?"

"Oh…no, ma'am. I do not," Amelia responded, blushing slightly.

"Follow me, then."

They walked down the staircase, the air growing slightly colder. Lanterns illuminated the corridor of the cramped boarding rooms of the opera. Several doors were in the corridor, looking quite small from the outside. A few maids were leaving their rooms off to their post. They looked at Amelia enviously.

Madame Giry stopped at the last wooden door. She unlocked it gently.

"This is your room as part of your employment. I am aware it might not be too spacious. I have been trying to get them refurbished by Monsieur Firman, yet his social events seem to be more important", Madame Giry stated, her mouth closing in frustration.

"Oh no ma'am, it is perfect. Thank you! I appreciate this immensely," Amelia stated, happy to have her own little space. Madam Giry was intrigued by this young woman. Most maids are not very happy to be working at opera house. Perhaps she was clueless at the amount of work this meant. She will learn in time, then.

"Hm. Two meals are served each day, 6 a.m. and 5 p.m. It is not much, but Monsieur Veragio's broth can revive the dead. Passes once, be alert. Now…any questions?"

Amelia shook her head respectively. The Madam then handed the small key to Amelia. She smiled kindly to the new young maid.

"Well then. Welcome to the opera house, Miss Jarnette."

With that, Madame Giry turned around and walked up the stairs. Amelia was left alone in her new quarters.

She walked into the cramped room, the ceiling almost hitting her head on the way in. A trifling bed lay in the corner, while a drawer and a small night table were near the bed. There was no window. Amelia saw several candles on the night table. She lit them with a few spare matches she found in the lower drawer.

The room was clear to her now. She could barely spin around once before hitting the bed. Her two bags were taking up space already. Even though it was confined space, Amelia was content.

She sat on the bed, feeling slightly anxious. Amelia hoped this was the right thing.

The hazel eyes watched the fire flicker in the corner, illuminating her room and her mind. She started humming softly, praying to help her feel safe.

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Please Review! :)


	2. Nightfall

Hello readers; a huge thank you to my reviewers! They really do help and have given me much inspiration to continue writing. I am quite excited for this story, trying to explore different areas and a new place is surely to come. Our Opera Ghost will be appearing very soon... Please let me know what you think. :)

Enjoy!

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The first few days were arduous, to say the least. The amount of work astounded Amelia, although she did not like to admit it. Nor did she say a word. She was instructed by one of the older maids to clean the seats of the main room, the mezzanine areas, every day. The task took a few hours; Amelia was then to wait until the end of each performance and do the work again, scrubbing for new stains and picking up any waste she could find.

During the day she was to mop the hallways of the boarding rooms and finish the lobby, all while trying not to offend anyone by her presence. It seemed that no matter how much she smiled toward the other women, they either ignored her or looked at her strangely. They did not talk to Amelia; most were jealous of her complexion, while others were just too busy to deal with a naïve and prim mademoiselle. Amelia wondered if she would make a friend at all.

She did her duties silently and without a complaint, however. She put on her simple maid's dress and pulled her waist-length hair into a tight bun every morning, ready to begin the day.

The other maids verbally complained throughout the days, keeping themselves entertained with discussing the newest gossip and handsome devotees of the Opera. Amelia did not mean to overhear, but the maids talked too loudly.

"I heard he's been spotted again! Around the upper hall! Oh, Marie says she saw him and it was like seein' into darkness."

"The Monsieur's don't believe a word of that nonsense. I don't either. I think Marie's been lookin' for trouble. She going to end with it, I tell ya! She's been slackin' too, you know. Leavin' early to talk to the ballet girls. Looking for trouble…"

The older maid shook her head.

"Anne, you keep being skeptical. The ghost could appear right before you, and perhaps you still won't believe it, hmm? Maybe with a noose around your neck you will!"

The younger maid's look of horror made her older friend burst into laughter. Amelia kept hearing these odd tales about a man who lurks in the shadows, occupying empty opera boxes and terrorizing the performers. Sometimes, when passing among the male performers and crew, she heard Joseph Buquet scaring the ballet girls, pretending to wear a piece of marble as a mask. He said the Ghost wore it to protect others from the gaping hole of Hell on his face. Or perhaps it was to cause even more fear into the hearts of the weak?

Weeks passed and Amelia did not see a thing. She did not go looking for 'trouble' either. She did her job meticulously and only took breaks to eat (or breathe). Around the second month, Amelia had enough savings to send a parcel to Mrs. Coellard, full of sweets for the children and a pretty scarlet colored hair pin for the orphanage owner she was able to find in town. She knew Mrs. Coellard would find it to her liking. Amelia kept in contact with her frequently through letters, and she was glad for the emotional support.

She realized the Opera house, although buzzing with activity and chaos, could get quite lonesome. At night, the shadows danced in her small room, creating landscapes and new places for her to invent in her mind. Amelia knew she was too old for these kinds of games, but she could not help it. They did indeed help.

When she tried dozing off into sleep, she would also remember the Opera stage, gazing at the structure as she cleaned the seats. The golden angels seemed to come to life with the flame of the grand chandelier, and she would imagine the little bits of the performances she was able to see from the back. They were more than beautiful, heaven-like in their ability to create new realms and characters. She caught herself imagining how it would be to be on stage, being an actress perhaps. Or a dancer!

Her two left feet disagreed.

She took care of the lobby, also. It would be constantly decorated with new flower arrangements; gorgeous roses, lavenders, and lilies adorned the main staircase every evening. Madam Giry once caught Amelia smelling the red lilies; she pretended not to see her, and walked away. She could not bring herself to interrupt the small maid.

The loud steps of the other boarders kept Amelia from having restful nights, however. She tried to tune them out, humming herself to sleep whenever she could. She would remember old lullabies Mrs. Coellard would sing to the children, soothing herself to sleep some nights. Other times she would stare at the candle on the drawer, following its dance.

The nights after performances were the worst; the endless parties continued until the late hours of the morning. Monsieur Firman and Andre would usually leave right after with a large party into town, drinking most of the champagne before stepping into their carriages. The crew members would stay and drink themselves, music playing on the less ostentatious instruments some owned. Others left early while others also went into the streets to find more merriment.

There were some nights Amelia knew she was alone, uselessly trying to put away the fear that built in the pit of her throat. She was not used to being so alone, although she thought she should be used to it by now.

It was a Friday evening; the second opening of "La Golondrina" had made another successful night at the Opera. La Carlotta had sung like she usually did, with the grace of a skipping elephant. Yet, people enjoyed her theatrics, and paid double for the unexpected fallings of logs or lights. The Opera Ghost had become infamous; some of the audience came just to see if he would appear. Horror sells quickly.

Tonight was no different than any other night: every seat in the theatre sold. The Monsieur's left with their boisterous party, while the crew decided to go off and celebrate themselves. They had put much work into this new play, and they knew they deserved a treat (which unfortunately the Monsieur's knew the crew deserved). With a little bit of a raise in their pay, the ballet girls and crew members were off to a night of entertaining pleasure.

Madam Giry and her daughter went home for the night, for Madam Giry did not believe in such shallow maneuvers of entertainment.

The Opera House was indeed empty.

Amelia was ordered by Anne, the young brunette maid with the sunken eyes, to remember to clean the seats and the stage. She knew it was usually her job to clean the stage also but the other maids were waiting outside for her and she could not stay and clean on such a magnificent night. Let the new maid take of it.

And so Amelia did take care of her job, mopping the entire stage and picking up the rubbish from the balconies and seats. It was not until around midnight that she had finished.

All she could think about walking back to the boarding house area was the hot water she could enjoy. She was accustomed to cold water, but she could not hear a peep coming from the halls. She would have enough water for a hot bath.

As she walked back into the lower hallway, she noticed a different shadow than the ones made by candles on the walls. She also heard drunken singing.

Jean, one of the smiths of the crew, appeared on the corner of the lower hallway, drinking from a half empty bottle of whiskey. The golden liquid swished in the container as he tried getting up from the wall.

"There you are! The new one, aren't ya? A pretty one toooo," he called out, his smile showing under a thick mustache. He must have been around thirty years of age.

A feeling of dread overcame Amelia. She was not very experienced with men, and she had barely been able to speak to anyone at the Opera house, let alone a man.

"G-good evening, Monsieur. Just going in for the night."

The man was blocking the way.

"Oh what fun is tha-? Come out of that room of yours, we know you hide there. Don't be shy, mademoiselle!"

He laughed heartily as his words slurred together.

_Should I just walk away? That would be rude…yet, I do now know..I-_

_"_What? Cat got that little tongue of yours? Come over, dearie, do a little turn! Let me see that little waist of yours…"

Amelia was left speechless as his hand grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him roughly. He had a tight hold of her dusty sleeve.

"Sir, please! I must g-"

"Oh, on a night like this? We'll have fun, my dear"

At this, Amelia started to panic, knowing this would not end well. She could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath, burning her nose. She decided to warn him one last time.

"Sir, let me go this instant. Or you will regret it."

She stood frozen in place, waiting for the drunken Jean to let go of his tight hold. Her beautiful face was now fierce in her resolute. Jean, however, burst out laughing and did the opposite, pulling her closer to him.

Everything happened too quickly for Jean to register; Amelia's left hand struck his hairy cheek, a strangely strong fist for such a small young woman. The man tumbled backwards and fell to the stone floor, too drunk to get up from the hit. He seemed unconscious, as Amelia realized what she had done. She had not meant to hit him that firm, a slap possibly, yet fear took over at the last second.

She did not know what else to do but run. Amelia ran quickly to the bathhouse, locking herself in one of the more closed off baths. She splashed water on her face, trying to bring color back into her cheeks.

_Oh, what have I done? He will surely remember…and he probably will tell Madam or perhaps the Monsieur's… Oh heavens…_

Her heart was beating madly. This was the first time a man had touched her, and perhaps she had overacted… What did you do in situations like this?

Her thoughts ran rapidly as she looked down at her sleeve. Jean had torn the dark sleeve from her shoulder, a large tear showing her olive-toned collarbone. Amelia felt tears accumulate on the corners of her eyes, but she shook them away.

She would have to go into town for a seamstress, or perhaps try and fix it herself. She did not have many dresses, and bothering Madam Giry was not on Amelia's to do list.

She stayed in the warm bath only for a little while, not wanting to be alone for too long. Walking briskly into the maid's hallway with her nightgown on, she heard silence from the usual corridors. She hurriedly locked herself in her room for the night.

Her exhausted body found her small bed a blissful comfort after such a long day. She let her hair down, a dark cascade of curls falling down her back. Amelia's eyes caught the candle once again, a habit.

There was something dark on the corner of the drawer; her eyes instantly fell onto the object with curiosity. She slowly lifted herself from the bed, walking a few steps to the wooden furnishing.

A crisp new maid's uniform lay neatly folded, a fresh scarlet lily gracefully placed on top.

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Please review :)


	3. Emerging

Hello readers; I would like to take this time to thank you for the follows and reviews. Every single one is appreciated and super helpful. Also, thank you to EvaAuthor and Masked Man for their constant, amazing reviews. To answer Masked Man's question, this story basically takes place in an alternate universe where the whole story line with Christine does not exist. No offense to Christine, I just wanted to create a completely different character and a different storyline all together. I also wanted this character to explore different areas of beauty with our Opera Ghost; we will see where this goes!

I have many ideas coming up for this story that I am quite excited about. Shout out to my mother for being my editor (yeah, shes pretty cool haha).

Things are picking up. I initially was not going to have this story be too long, but oh well. : )

Please let me know what you think with a review! Thank you and enjoy.

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She dreamed of a world full of a beautiful darkness, and the stars shining like gems, glowing through the night clouds. They twinkled softly as her mind seemed to grow comfortably warm in the fresh snow.

The banging of the footsteps above woke her up with a start. It took her Amelia minutes to figure out where she was. Her eyes fell upon the red lily which she had placed standing on the night table. The previous events came to her in an instant.

Her chest was beginning to feel heavy as she knew she was to face Monsieur Jean again; would he remember her? Would he have told Madam Giry about her reckless action? Perhaps she had already been fired...

She got up from the bed, hearing Monsieur Veragio cart coming down the hall outside. Amelia touched the new maid uniform absentmindedly.

Who exactly had been able to give her this?

_It could not have been Madam...possibly another maid? No, there was no one here besides Jean...and he had been, ahem, asleep on the floor...perhaps..no.._

Her mind was obviously becoming delusional. She almost had started to believe the curious tales. _Could it have been the Ghost...?_

She shook her head out of her disillusionment as she dressed herself quickly.

I might as well get ready, she thought, as she tidied her long hair into a braid.

She ate her breakfast hurriedly and stepped out of her room, all while trying to avoid the other maids. Maybe if she kept her head down, people would not notice her preoccupied state.

Amelia began her usually work, cleaning through the dark velvet seats and picking up the papers left behind my yesterday's grand performance. Hours passed and none of the maids approached her; the recitals went as planned. Everything seemed to be in order, much to Amelia's surprise.

As she passed the upper corridor, the young maid heard a familiar voice.

"That son of a bitch...I'll get em' next time, I swear it."

Amelia turned the corner and witnessed Jean leaning against one of the wooden shelves, rubbing his cheek with his dirty hand. A dirty blonde maid frowned emphatically at his words.

"Watch it, alright? I wouldn't be looking for a fight with him. Take it as some kind of warning."

"A warning for what exactly? Living?!"

The blond shook her head sadly.

"I don't know, darling. Maybe we ought to all be careful."

"It was him, I know it. One moment I'm walkin, the other I'm wakin up with this", Jean stated, fuming.

"Heh. I'll let hell swallow me whole before I let that bastard have another swing at me!"

He stormed down the other side of the hall, the other maid following close behind. Her comforting words were not helping.

Amelia was left dumbfounded. Jean had not remembered a thing, let alone who actually hit him in the first place! She could not help but feel some relief. Whether or not this Ghost really existed did not matter at this moment; He had helped her more than he could imagine.

As she walked down the hall, a smile on her rose lips, Amelia had the strangest feeling she was not alone.

No, she did not see anyone, but the hairs on the back of her head meant something.

She looked around, the candles illuminating the passageway.

_This ghost...this person...whoever he is, he's helped me. My dress, the beautiful lily, Jean! Maybe I have been rude…_

She stood up straight as she prepared herself. Half of her mind told her she was being a fool, while the other beckoned her forth.

"Thank you."

Her small voice resounded against the walls of the hall, echoing through the corridor. There was no reply; Amelia caught herself slightly disappointment but glad she had thanked him, at least.

"What on earth are you doing?"

A firm voice jolted Amelia back from her thoughts. Madam Giry stood a few paces behind her, a black workbook in her hand. She had been writing down different dates for pay and ballet recitals when she came across the young maid talking to herself.

A strange one indeed, the ballet instructor thought.

"Oh, Madam! I-I, ahem, nothing, just going to the lobby Ma'am."

"The lobby is in that direction..."

Her long manicured finger was pointed toward the other hallway, opposite of where Amelia was heading.

The young maids cheeks became scarlet.

"Ah, right, my apologies."

"Actually, I was looking for you. Come, follow me."

Madam Giry walked away, with Amelia trailing close behind. She barely had time to think of what this could mean. Perhaps Jean had told Madam what had happened, and had pretended to blame the Ghost for his own image. Perhaps she truly was being fired.

_Three months Amelia. And you have ruined it._

She sighed to herself.

Madam Giry was leading her towards a part of the Opera House she had never stepped foot in: the manager's area. It was another corridor but the paint was not falling off the walls, and the lanterns were more intricate. Amelia saw another much more beautiful staircase leading to different offices. Those were certainly of the owners.

They arrived at a quaint wooden door; Madam Giry unlocked it and led Amelia in. It was a simple office, with an old mahogany desk and chair. There was an large bookcase behind the desk, mostly filled with quills, workbooks, and books filled with ballet techniques and its history. There were not many decorations, but the office was elegant in a way. One small window brought forth light into the office, the sound of carts and townspeople emerging from the glass.

"Sit,"

She commanded firmly.

Amelia's nerves were not calming down.

The ballet instructor sat down also, sitting with perfect posture. She looked curiously at Amelia, yet not with malice.

"Now...how is your work? I have been observing you and I can surely say I am impressed."

This would have usually helped her anxieties, but Amelia had a feeling she had not been called here to discuss just her work.

"Oh, thank you, Ma'am. Everything is well. Thank you again for the opportunity."

Madam Giry made a noise of acceptance and her eyes went to the book on her desk. Her fingers turned the page casually.

She did not say word for what it seemed an eternity. Sweat accumulated on Amelia's brow.

"Hopefully Jean recovers from that awful blow, more to his pride than his skin."

Her dark eyes met Amelia's, as the young maid opened her mouth to say, something, anything to explain herself. But no words came out.

Madam Giry's face was deadly serious but her eyes had an amusing gleam to them.

"Ma'am I- I can explain. It is my fault, I overrea-"

A graceful hand in the air stopped Amelia's babbling.

"Next time, hit him twice for me."

Amelia could not believe what her ears were hearing, but Madam Giry's eyes were twinkling in the afternoon sun from the window.

The maid could not suppress a small smile. A question emerged on her lips before she could tell herself to stop.

"But...how do you know what happened?"

"Eyes and ears, my dear. The walls have eyes and ears. Let Jean believe whatever he wants, hmm?"

Amelia looked down at her lap, wondering what exactly Madam Giry meant. Had she been there when Jeanne had grabbed her?

_But she did retire to her home with her daughter...then perhaps someone...no, I do not believe any of the other maids would help me. And what about the uniform?_

"Now, if you have any questions, or ANY problems, you are aware of where I am if-"

Suddenly the wooden door of the office opened, a tall ballet girl walking right in.

"Mother, the girls and I practiced more, but I've told them to practice the balancé since Giana bends forward a bit too much, and its-."

The ballet girl stopped in her steps as she felt the glare coming from Madam Giry. Her eyes could cut through stone.

"What have I told you about knocking...?"

She did not raise her voice but the words were said with a frightening ferocity. The ballet girl was almost shaking in her cream dress. Her blue eyes looked upon Amelia for the first time.

"Oh, heavens, forgive me, Mother! I won't do it again, I promise!"

She held her hands together; Madam Giry sighed in frustration. She lifted herself up from the desk.

"Amelia, this is my daughter who is incapable of knocking on doors. Meg, this is Amelia, working to make this opera house more presentable than its workers."

Meg smiled kindly toward Amelia and held out her hand. The maid shook it, grateful to know someone around her age. Her wavy blond hair was held in a bow the same color as her dress; Amelia had seen her dancing in some of the performances.

"Accompany Miss Jarnette to the maid's corridors, please. I must deal with the other girls myself. Excuse me, Miss Jarnette."

Before they exited the room, Amelia bowed and thanked Madam Giry. The ballet instructor hurriedly walked toward the stage, while Meg walked with Amelia.

"So, how much time have you been here?"

"Oh, only three months. Well it will be three months and four days this Sunday, I believe."

Meg nodded, listening courteously to the maids words.

"Have you been here long with Madam Giry?"

"About four years. We lived here in the beginning but Mother got annoyed with the crew so we had enough to rent a house down the street. We live there now."

"Oh, that must be wonderful, having a house in the city!" Amelia responded, a dreamy look in her eye.

"Yes, I do love it myself. You should visit soon! Mother makes this ginger tea that is just wonderful. You would love it!"

Megs waves bobbed enthusiastically with her head, her pretty face beaming with happiness. Amelia had never been invited to tea; she would surely remember this moment.

"You are too kind, but I would not want to bother you and your mother..." Amelia stated respectfully.

"Oh nonsense! She can be a bit scary, but I assure you, she's very kind and loves guests, she just won't say it out loud."

She laughed mischievously.

They were almost to the maid's corridors. Meg continued to talk about different things to do around the opera house, and to be careful with the construction and repair crew ("a bunch of troublemakers") and the abandoned library, and how to get an extra loaf of bread from Monsieur Veragio-

"Wait, abandoned library? Here?"

"Well, if you call a few bookcases huddled in creepy room a library. There used to be a bigger one but they changed it to make more offices."

Amelia had only been able to read a few children's books growing up. Mrs Coellard had taught the children writing and arithmetic, and even some history, but there was not much time for leisurely reading. This abandoned library interested her more than she would admit.

"Where exactly is this place?"

They arrived at Amelia's corridor. Meg did not want to leave for practice but she knew her mother would probably disown her if she continued slacking.

"Instead of taking the upper stairs to Monsieur Farmin and Andres' offices, continue toward the bottom corridor and turn left. Now, the rooms are all storage but the last one is where you want to go. Don't expect much, though, it's only a few. But take as many as it pleases you. Trust me, no one reads here."

Amelia grabbed Meg's hands gently.

"Thank you! I appreciate this immensely."

Meg shrugged her shoulders casually, her thin pink lips in a grin. She did not know books could make someone so happy. Meg only knew ballet and how it helped her feel happiness (despite her mother's strict discipline).

They said their goodbyes and Amelia went straight back to work, her heart a little lighter than before. She thanked the Saints for her new friend. Perhaps things would get better. Perhaps she would finish work earlier, and have time to do some exploring.

...

The performance was a success again, although some would argue the banister that almost knocked down Signor Piangi was more than an accident. Nevertheless, people cheered more than ever. Amelia hurried through her work, yet still being as meticulous as ever. Some of the maids actually helped on this occasion, helping her to finish more quickly.

The clock struck eleven, and the Opera house was once again almost deserted. There were some maids that went to sleep while most went drinking with the crew again. That left Amelia to herself, putting on a cleaner, dark blue dress and taking a lantern with her into the insides of the Opera house.

She walked back to the area of the offices, hearing distant voices and laughing. The young maid followed Meg's instructions and turned left, down some stairs.

Her skin was feeling the growing cold of the corridor, going deeper into the floors of the Opera house. There was barely any light, and her lantern was not helping much.

She kept walking until she could not hear any voices, but the dripping of pipes in the foreground. Her breath echoed on the walls. She was not afraid, nonetheless.

Amelia walked further until reaching the last door, grimy and decrepit. She unlatched the barred door, putting the piece of wood down by her feet. A small creak came from the door, opening into pure darkness. She held her lantern in front of her; she could barely make out the room itself.

Amelia saw a small dirty table in the middle and a broken candelabra with half-melted wax sticks. She took her own candle and lighted the sticks, bringing light to the old room. The young maid could see clearly now.

The room seemed to walk back into the last century, adorned with a beautiful but cobweb-covered crown molding of angels and grapevines. Around her were statues and props, all covered in years' worth of dust. The wooden floor at her feet was filled with what seemed like holes, rats to blame.

She turned around, the lantern guiding her. Meg had been right.

Before her were were four bookcases, one of them falling on top of a dark wooden drawer. They were filled with books of all sizes, the larger ones at the bottom of the shelves. They looked hauntingly beautiful in the candlelight.

Amelia's heart leaped at the sight. Her small fingers trailed along their spines, feeling the old covers beneath her skin.

Her hands caught one and pulled it out, dust falling around her. But she did not care, and sat down, beginning to read _a History of our Emperor_.

She read the first few pages, already caught up in the turmoil's of war. Amelia closed it softly and put it on the table, making sure to take it with her.

She went back to the upper shelves seeing a romance from a few decades ago. Her hands took the book out, reading the first few pages. Another one for the stack.

Amelia did not know how long she was in the room until she looked up at the wax and saw it was almost completely melted. The room was extremely cold, but she barely had noticed while she was reading.

Amelia decided to take one last book before leaving with her cargo: a view at French architecture.

She took the books and lantern, blew out the candles, and left the abandoned room just how it was.

…..

It became a ritual of sorts: Amelia would finish her duties, take a quick bath, change her clothes and take her lantern down into the room. She would take one book every time, and make sure to bring it back shortly. Weeks passed like this, as Amelia started reading more and more; she would read while eating and began a habit of staying up late to read an extra chapter or two. Each book was a world unto its own.

After the fourth week, the little library started to feel like her own room, comfortable despite its decrepit state. She decided some of the cleaning supplies and dust the props and furnishings, trying to make the signs of abandonment disappear. The young maid cleaned the bookshelves and even put an extra lantern on table. She took scrupulous care of every book.

She started writing to Mrs. Coellard using the table, much bigger than the one in her actual room. Amelia also noticed some of the books were torn out of their spine; she made sure to go into town on her free day and find some paste.

It was a Saturday night like every other Saturday night. It was mid-November, the weather in Paris becoming very chilly.

Amelia was done with her responsibilities. The young maid knew the steps by heart, journeying down the opera house once again.

She dusted for the any new dirt and began putting back the precious books. Amelia then took a smaller book to the table.

An hour passed, and she was almost finishing the book. It was getting past midnight, and she knew she should return. Tomorrow was her day off, and perhaps she should sleep in a bit.

Amelia decided to take a bigger book with her tonight; she found those to be the most filled with fascinating information. Although she enjoyed the romances immensely, she loved to read about different planets, cities, and scholars.

Her eyes caught a completely black book huddled in the falling bookshelf; her hands caught the book and pulled, yet it did not come out.

A clicking noise came from the angled shelf, accompanied by a sliding sound from the corner.

_What in God's name…?_

The large dusty drawer had opened up to reveal an even darker opening. She looked inside and saw wet, stone stairs leading further downward.

Would she dare?

She turned around at the room, knowing all too well what a fool she would be if she followed the path.

Yet, her heart was pushing her forward, begging her to take at least a peak.

_No, Amelia, you are not 4, this is not a game. Go back to your room._

But her heart was ignoring her mind.

She sighed, the only sound in the room. Perchance...just a quick look.

Amelia took the lantern at her feet and put a new candle in. She pushed her long braid to her side, making space for her dress through the opening. It was large enough for a tall child; she had to bend down completely in order to enter.

She placed the lantern in front of her, walking carefully down the stone steps. They looked ancient and very slippery. She held her hand out onto the walls for support. There was barely a sound but her feet trudging carefully.

After what seemed like forever, her feet found the bottom of the steps. The lantern barely illuminated the vast stone passage in front of her. It had been carved out of the rock, water running down its walls. The library above seemed warm compared to the temperature here.

Amelia was seeing her breath in front of her.

Her mind was telling her to turn back while her chest was heaving with an eerie sense of excitement.

She was walking slowly, and for a second, she looked above her, tracing the lines of condensation.

Suddenly, her foot caught a stone out of place. Her mouth made an odd sound as her hands broke the fall on the cold floor.

Amelia did not feel any pain until she looked down at her wrist.

Blood was coming out slowly from a small, but wide cut. Her palm had also been scratched badly from the fall.

Now, maybe her mind had been correct. She cursed her stupidity mentally.

Amelia grabbed the lantern by her side with her other arm, trying to lift herself up against the wall.

When she lifted her head up, a pair of steel gray eyes stared at her own through a pure white mask. A strong gloved hand covered her mouth delicately, yet she did not scream.

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	4. Hold

Hi readers! Thank you so much the reviews. Please continue to let me know any thoughts, feelings,and concerns; they help tremendously.

More to come soon!

Enjoy.

* * *

_It seems that she walks on a thin layer of moonlight, wherever she goes. There is an aura of purity that surrounds her. Her lips are tainted with a color of fresh blood, her hair a dark abyss of dancing curls. And her eyes! Those eyes the color of the sun before it touches the horizon, shining in the lanterns light. Her hands, delicate as she takes care of the books as if they were her own children, carefully setting them into their cradles for the long ceaseless nights. I had wanted to take them away from her, a childlike impulse to protect what is mine. But I could not break such an image, an untainted soul, a angel without wings. She could have what she yearns for. They were only pages of words, words that were intended to be shared. Perhaps this would be an exchange that my soul could accept. A foolish occurrence to ponder, perchance, but part of me wanted her to know. To know I was watching beyond her firelight and the darkness. I wanted to hear her voice directed toward me. _

_And now I was looking into those suns of hers, staring into mine. I could smell her wrist's blood, a spill I would have prevented._

_I wanted her to know everything._

_But I could not have that. I was not destined to have that. There was no luck left for me._

_ A ghost lives in nothing. I have silenced the voice that cries out for light._

_..._

It was one of those moments that the mind forgets any traces of words. There was a mist in her mind, preventing her from saying anything. Her body was paralyzed, but not because of the cold. It was his hand, gently but firmly on her mouth. But what stopped her from making any movements were his eyes. The intensity in the steel grey orbs told an endless story, a deep hurt she could tell from his gaze.

It was a strange, familiar sight, something she did not understand.

She wanted to dive into the slits of dark color. They summoned her forth, but she was frozen.

Amelia's bleeding hand pulsating against the stone floor, begging for assistance.

The Man, as if hearing her limbs cries, removed the hand from her mouth and lifted her limp hand. He reached for his hip, too dark for Amelia to see. His hand emerged with a deep blue handkerchief; the man took her injured hand and cleaned the blood with the fine silk, putting slight pressure on the cut to stop its bleeding.

Amelia could not help but flinched at the pressure but was too shocked to refute. He then tore the handkerchief and wrapped the strips of cloth around her wrist, cleaning off the debris from her scratched hand. The degree of gentleness coming from the tall figure was unbelievable, Amelia's mind becoming full of curiosity.

The lantern at her feet was not giving off much light, but she could see him oddly clearly. After finishing his work, he lifted himself up from the ground.

His skin was the color of tanned ivory, while his slicked back hair was black with hints of chocolate shining in the flame. He wore a dark waistcoat, an even darker neck tie decorating his long neck. The man was tall in stature, almost two heads taller than the petite maid. His face shown signs of aging around his eyes; perhaps he was around his thirty-fifth or thirty-sixth year.

It was a fierce type of handsomeness, his aquiline nose giving an air of pride.

Yet, it was the mask that glowed from his slim but strong body that shined in the light. Amelia could not tell of what it was made of, but it seemed perfectly smooth against the skin beneath.

What was it hiding? A scar? A burn?

He extended his large gloved hand for her. It took her a few seconds to realize the gesture, and placed her un-injured hand in his. The man lifted her unto her feet effortlessly.

She looked up at him, their eyes meeting once again; the light from the lantern gave his face the appearance of something unnatural, a man nor ghost, but something more.

As her mind tried to decide of what to say, he swiftly turned and began to leave away from her, walking a few paces down the passageway.

"Wa- wait! Please! I have not thanked you, sir!"

She tried moving from the wall, but her feet slid beneath the wet floor. Moving was not ideal at the moment, she decided.

He stopped in his footsteps, his back to her.

"You have approximately one minute to find your way back up those steps. You have ten minutes to walk back into your room and close the door. You have a lifetime to forget what you have seen, if need be."

Amelia's lungs swallowed cold air. She was almost shaking, trying to find the correct words.

"Sir please, I just want to thank you, I- I know I was not supposed to be here. I am sorry...I am...Who, who are you?"

The words spilled out her full lips. There was silence for a short time. She pushed further.

"Are you...are you the Opera Ghost?"

Amelia cursed her presumptuous mouth. Why couldn't it shut itself up in these situations?

He stayed motionless in the middle of the passageway, a few steps from the maid.

"That name is better than what most have called me. It is all the same to me."

He spoke fiercely, with a tone of unnerving bitterness.

Amelia could sense his emotions; even a few steps away from him she realized it must be something to do with the beautiful half mask. Perhaps he was aware of the horrible tales about himself; he had heard.

Her heart gave her some courage.

"But...but you are a man."

She said it simply, as if it was the most basic fact in the world. Her words, however, resounded off the walls, reaching the Ghosts mind as a beautiful echo.

A man? Was he a man? Could he be a man?

Did she see him as a man...and not a demon?

But she had not seen him...seen all of him. She had no idea; she was naive.

He began walking again toward the darkness.

"Wait! Monsieur, wait, please!"

But it was too late, for he had disappeared into what God only knows.

Amelia stared into the sightless passage, waiting for a sound or anything from the man, but no sound came. He had vanished and he would not return.

Amelia was speechless as she had no choice but to return to the little library, leave the books where they belonged. She knew she must try and forget what she saw.

She traced back her steps and closed all the doors. Before she could even think, Amelia was in her room, surrounded by the strange viscosity of what had just occurred.

She sat on her small bed and stared at the wilting red lily.

He really existed, this ghost, this apparition. But he was no ghost or apparition. He was a human like her, and everyone else around them.

She tried going to sleep but it was of no use. Her mind was spinning, remembering those eyes that seemed to stare right into her spirit. It was frightening, and yet, she wanted to know more.

Amelia thanked God that she did not have to wake up before the sun emerged. Now that she had been at the Opera house for a few months, the young maid could have a day or two off.

Eventually, she dozed off into a shallow slumber. Amelia woke around ten the following morning, her body aching from lack of good rest.

She unwrapped the strips of the handkerchief to see the cut healing quickly, but her palm was still quite red; she wrapped it again, her other hand absentmindedly stroking the fine torn silk.

Amelia decided to dress herself quickly; today would be the perfect day to go into town. She picked a dress she had not worn yet, a smooth red frilled dress that accentuated her small waist. Instead of her usual braid or bun, she decided to wear her long curls down, an elegant halfway style. As soon as she emerged from her room, the men down the halls gawked and the other maids regarded her resentfully. The young maid was oblivious to the gazes, however.

She walked past the corridors and into the lobby. Amelia was near the doors when she heard her name being called.

"Amelia! Ameeeeeeelia!"

Meg was running towards her, wearing a green simple but handsome dress.

"How have you been? Are you going off to town? I will come with you! I have to pick some new ribbons for me and the rest of the girls for the performance tomorrow."

Amelia was trying to register all the questions, not used to Meg's speed of communication.

"Oh, of course! I would enjoy that", Amelia answered, genuinely smiling. She had not been able to see Meg lately, since she was busy practicing for the new performance, The King and his Wives. Nevertheless, whenever Meg caught a glimpse of Amelia working around the Opera house, she would always wave and greet her kindly.

As they walked through the main doors, Meg gazed at Amelia's countenance.

"You do look so lovely today! I mean, you always do, but it's quite different seeing you without your uniform."

"You are too kind. You look quite pretty, like always," Amelia responded, waiting to cross the street with her friend.

Meg smiled and bumped at Amelia's shoulders as they both witnessed a fetching gentleman in a white shirt and dark coat passing by, tipping his hat amiably. His eyes beamed especially toward Amelia.

The ballet girl stepped over a puddle, looking down and noticing the blue silk wrapped around Amelia's hand.

"Oh, Amelia, what happened? Is your hand alright?"

Amelia had to look down to see what Meg's was speaking about. She thought about telling her everything, but something else told her to keep it hidden. Amelia knew Meg would not take the meeting of the famous Opera Ghost very lightly.

"N-nothing, Meg, it is nothing to worry about, really. Just slipped cleaning the stairs."

Meg nodded, telling her to be careful next time.

The maid would be careful, indeed.

They walked around the center of town, heading toward the markets near the Governor's square. The ladies conversed about the goings-on at the Opera house, stopping to see the dresses in _Lady Madeline's Manufacturers. _They looked upon a dancing gypsy in the street, a young man a few years younger than Amelia. She thought his striking blue eyes contrasted beautifully with his dark skin.

When they reached the ribbon shop, Meg went on to speak to the owner about buying a bulk of the material. It was a small but cozy shop, filled up to the top with every color of ribbon possible. Amelia continued walking toward the back of the store, staring at the amounts of silk and cotton. Her eyes fell upon the back wall, copious amounts of handkerchiefs reaching the ceiling. On the left corner, a white handkerchief lay gently on its shelf. It reminded her of something else that would not escape her mind that was also white.

She looked down at her wrapped hand.

It would be perfect.

….

After their purchases, Meg and Amelia sat on stone bench near a few rose bushes in the square. The ballet girl was showing her friend the beautiful ribbon she had just bought.

A question emerged on Amelia's lips. If she did not ask Meg, perhaps she would not have the courage to ask it any other time.

"Ah…Meg, what do you know of the Opera Ghost?

Meg's usually bright blue eyes turned dark as she looked down at her lap.

"Well, that's what I ask myself really. And my mother. But she will _not_ hear me, she just shuts me up. She thinks I'm foolish for even asking. But I hear he is utterly horrible. Some of the maids have seen this phantom, and they say the skin on his face melts off his bones. And he wears this ghastly mask to hide his face, but it doesn't cover it all. He doesn't even have a nose! And he hunts at night, for the weak. But, um, I've never seen him."

_So…_He_ was the Opera Ghost…the Phantom. If they only knew…_

"Why? Have you seen him?!"

Meg stared at Amelia with apprehension.

"Oh no, I was just a little curious."

Amelia stated this so casually that Meg went back to staring at her lap.

The least the young maid could do is protect the Ghost's- the man's identity. She would not tell anyone what she had seen.

It was around sunset when the ladies returned to the Opera house; Meg hugged Amelia affectionately as she said her goodbye, going off to join her mother. Amelia, however, would not retire to her bed just yet.

She waited a few hours in her quarters, writing a letter to Mrs. Coellard. She ate her dinner, and later changed into her usual plain dress, knowing she probably would not see the man again. She just wanted to leave him an item that represented her thanks.

Around ten, there was not much noise around her. This was the time to leave. Her feet found the way again, despite her heart's precautions.

Amelia knew it was dangerous, unwise even. She was trying to find a man known for being a monster.

_He is not a monster. He was kind enough to help me, and I was being a meddling fool. He could have left me there, but he did not. I owe him this at least. _

She held the small box in her hands, wrapped underneath her sleeve. Her long curls trailed behind her.

Grabbing a lantern from the walls, Amelia walked down the abandoned corridor, feeling the familiar coldness. When she arrived at the acquainted door, her heart sank.

She could feel the air escape her lungs in shock.

The library door was now barred with a new metal lock, barely moving as she pounded on the door.

"No…", she whispered in the dark.

"NO! Please, this is not fair!" Amelia proclaimed, as she knocked strongly on the door.

She tried lowering her voice, but a mix of rage and sadness was building quickly. She spoke to the walls around her, toward the door, and mainly, toward the Ghost.

"I know you are there! I know you can hear me! Please! I just want to make things….right…"

Her knees buckled, her body falling down along the wooden door, tears falling down her cheeks. This was like her second home, and now, it had been taken from her. She knew it was not hers, and she perhaps deserved this.

That did not mean it did not hurt like a dagger to her heart.

"I will not leave….I will not leave until you open this door, Monsieur!"

She spoke into the door, praying he was hearing her. Amelia would not move.

Her mind was working a plan like clockwork. She knew him more than he was aware of. She knew what she would do.

….

After a few hours of sitting against the door, tears drying on her olive cheeks, Amelia had fallen into a deep sleep. It was quite late, beyond midnight. The cold was getting terribly abundant.

_He _was watching, and he knew he could not leave her there. Several times he told himself to walk away, but he simply could not. He was a monster, perhaps, but he also considered himself a gentleman. _He_ had manners. _He _would not leave her, despite how stubborn this young woman was.

She did not know it, but the lock was for her protection.

The Ghost emerged from one of the doors, standing silently above the petite young girl. Her dress was hugging her waist and slim legs, the hair on her neck standing up from the temperature. She was pure beauty in deep sleep.

He lifted her gently, picking her up as if she were glass. The young maid held something firmly against her chest, barely moving as the Ghost began to walk swiftly down the corridor.

It was unfortunate that He was too busy watching his steps, making sure he did not wake the small girl in his hands. He usually noticed every detail, but on this occurrence, he failed to notice her eyes opening, a shy smile on her lips as she knew her plan had worked.

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Please Review :)


	5. Kindling

Hey readers! So this is a shorter chapter than the usual, but it is solely our Ghost and Amelia. This chapter will help establish the start of the bond, their relationship in other words. Let me know what you think! Things will become a bit more complicated, but their trust is slowly but surely starting to build.

Please R&amp;R and enjoy! :)

* * *

The young maid knew what she was doing. She was aware that he would not let her sleep on the cold floor, that he would eventually come forth out of his hiding. She knew he was kind, beyond what others said.

All Amelia wanted was to give him her gift; if this would be the only way, then so be it.

She was nestled against his broad chest, trying to keep her calm as this was truly the first time she had been held by a man. She was mentally thankful for the low lighting; Amelia knew her cheeks were blazing scarlet.

As soon as her eyes opened, the man knew he was being looked upon and immediately gazed downward at the small girl in his arms.

He noticed things other humans did not, and he was aware of things that others would not care to know. He was beyond the glimpse of human vision.

But this young woman in his arms, this naive girl who had not even reached her twentieth year, had tricked him. He was not used to this and he would certainly never forget.

His dark eyes met hers, a deep annoyance building in his pupils.

For a split second, Amelia thought he would drop her, but he only sighed in frustration.

"Good Evening," Amelia proclaimed casually.

She had no idea where this courage was coming from, but it was helping in making her seem completely fearless. Yes, it was late, and yes, she might have been playing the part of fool quite well, but she needed to do this.

He smelled oddly wonderful, something strong and invigorating.

Amelia was surely not used to the scent.

The man closed his eyes as he let Amelia down to her feet, eyeing her with distrust.

_Perhaps I could show him I am not an enemy…_

He walked back a few paces away from her, the distance made purposely. The masked stared back.

The man would not be taken as a fool any longer.

He was about to walk away, and leave this troublesome girl.

But first, she must learn.

"Trickery is not an admirable quality, my dear. Ponder another way of making a first impression."

He said the words with venom, warning her yet again.

"Monsieur, you have already witnessed my first impression, and it involved a bloody wrist. I had to resolve to a bit of deception, since now my only refuge is barred unto me."

Amelia was starting to become weary.

She needed those books again, and she would not stand for this. But she was aware stomping her feet and pounding on the door would get her nowhere.

She reached out, the small black box in her hands. Amelia waited.

The man eyed her from afar, observing her facial movements and breathing. She was nervous, but there was no malice.

"Run along now, Child. You are wasting your time trying to coax your way into what is not yours."

Amelia was appalled, to say the least. She ignored all the terrible rumors and names, and decided to speak to the tall man as a human; she was awfully tired of his rudeness.

"I-I am not coaxing you, Sir, into doing anything! This is a gift! You helped me, and I wanted to show my thanks, since you would not stay for a verbal thank you. Perhaps I would like to thank you using your actual name! Perhaps it is a waste of my time, but _I _choose to waste it like this!"

The man' countenance stayed as grave and dark as his long coat, but in his mind, he knew he should not have been so cold, so distant. This young girl had treated his books with care and love, and he had shown her no warmth. Nevertheless, it was his defense against everything, including humanity.

"I did not come here to fight, Monsieur", Amelia stated calmly, steadying herself.

"I just wan-"

His long slender hand flew up before her, stopping her in her words. In a few seconds, an audible laugh came from the upper stairs. Whoever it was, they were approaching quickly.

Amelia did not feel his hand on her small hip, nor the force of his hands pulling her into his chest, dragging them both into one of the other abandoned rooms. It was pitch black, the room being big enough for a few boxes and coats perhaps, but not the Ghost and the determined girl. The door slammed behind the girl, locking them in.

She could feel her back against the door, the man's larger figure looming above her. She could not see anything, nor hear much but her heavy breathing. Down the abandoned hall, one of the maids and a crew member laughed drunkenly, kissing fervently against the lantern light. They laughed heartedly as two children, playing and chasing each other.

The Opera ghost waited patiently and silently, his hands on Amelia's small shoulders. Her chest breathed deeply, rising in the dark.

Her nostrils were filled with his scent, surrounding her with a stimulating perfume. Her head was spiraling and her heart was beating madly.

It was a few minutes later that the laughs diminished and footsteps could be heard running away, until Amelia was left to hear the silence of the night. She could not see anything, but she elusively looked above her, knowing he was watching her. The young maid could feel his gaze, like fire burning her from the inside. His strong hands were still on her, keeping her still.

She understood now why they spoke of his ghostly appearance, or how frightening he was. The figure was intimidating, to say the least.

Amelia did not know why her mind was blank, momentarily forgetting everything and why she had come to all this trouble in the first place. His voice suddenly cut through the silence.

"Erik. That is all you must know."

The young maid could hear something snap, something opening in the dark. He released his grip softly on her shoulders, walking away in pure obscurity. The snapping noise was heard again, then the sound of a latch closing. She dared to reach out beyond her, but the man, Erik, had vanished once again.

He had taken the small box.


	6. Light

Thank you very much for the reviews! Thanks especially to my new reviewer, Pineapple3000; you are awesome!

To answer Masked Mans question, the title was a mix up on my part. The real chapter name was supposed to be Kindling, but the Jasmine was something else, an error of mine. And thank you for your review. :)

Here is chapter 6! Things are starting to change. I had to divide this chapter into two parts; next one coming up very soon. Please let me know what you think with a review? They mean a lot and keep me going.

Thanks and enjoy!

* * *

No matter how busy she kept herself, Amelia could not get what had occurred that night out of her mind. She cleaned the stairs, swept the floors, and even accomplished extra work, but her mind would replay that occurrence over and over like a repetitive daydream. She did not understand either; why could she not put it out of her mind? Why had he captured her like this, like a spider to a moth?

She was the one that had been looking for him, so technically, the blame was hers. Amelia was the one who had stuck her nose into what was not hers. But she did not regret meeting _him._

_Oh, this is all your fault. You could not do without those books. You could have just walked away and obeyed him, forgetting him and that room. But...I would not have done that anyway._

Amelia was fascinated by this man, this Erik.

_Erik._

The name echoed in her mind like chiming clock. No, she would not forget him. But, conceivably, she could try and avoid these encounters. He would appreciate that possibly.

The young maid knew he was annoyed by her; she was a simple child next to the older man.

_Well…perhaps not a child. He sees me like one, however._

She cursed herself as she thought about him once again, feeling her now healed wrist; she sighed and continued her duties.

Days passed like this, cleaning and busying herself. Amelia did not go looking for the mysterious man; she focused on her work and moved forward.

A week passed, and no appearance from the Opera Ghost. He did not appear before her; Amelia tried not to be discontented by this fact. One some nights, nevertheless, she could not resist taking a peek at the abandoned library door, disappointed every time as the new metal lock was still in place. Amelia would walk back to her room, holding down the heavy feeling of disillusionment in her chest.

…

It was a Wednesday afternoon, a chilly mid- November day. Most of the maids discussed their plans for the Christmas break coming soon, most of them ready to depart whenever the Monsieur's gave the green light. Amelia sometimes was able to speak a bit when she felt more daring, making a bit of conversation with the other girls; some of them actually listened.

Anne, the domineering blonde maid, usually ignored Amelia when they worked alongside each other, but lately, she had tried and made conversation with the young maid.

Amelia was more than happy to make a new friend, but something also told her to be careful telling the older maid too many details.

It was the way Anne smirked when she thought Amelia was not looking that kept the young maid alert.

"Will you be stayin' here for the holiday?" Anne asked nonchalantly, picking up some debris from the floor.

"Oh, um, no. I believe I will be visiting my family, my foster mother. It will probably be snowing but I could try and get a carriage perhaps. What will you be doing?"

"Ah, probably staying at my Aunt's house, near Chantilly. Should be alright. Jean said we could go together."

_Monsieur Jean?_

Amelia had not heard his name in weeks, trying to forget what had occurred between them. She truly hoped Anne did not know.

"Are you…does he favor you?" Amelia asked kindly.

Anne smiled mischievously.

"Oui, you could say that…"

Their conversation was cut short as Madam Giry and Meg walked beside them, walking toward the stage. She was wearing her usual black as night dress, her frilled collar making her neck seemed twice as long. Black pearl earrings hung on her small ears. Meg wore her usual ballet practice dress.

They stopped before Amelia, a stern but kind look to the instructor's eye. She handed the young maid a hand-written note.

"Good Afternoon. I expect you to be on time, my dear. Do not fret about your duties, they have been dealt with," Madam stated, nodding her head and walking away.

Amelia looked down at the note, opening it with reverence. It was an invitation to tea the following day around noon at Madam's household. Her heart beat nervously; she did not think she would truly be invited.

Someone touched Amelia's shoulder quickly, jolting her nose out of the note. Meg waved kindly and walked away with her mother.

Amelia did not notice Anne staring at her and the note, a dim look to her eye.

...

The day went by slowly; the young maid's mind was filled with apprehension.

_What should I wear? My red dress? Perhaps the darker one…Do I accept the tea when it is given? Or do I reject once courteously…No, I should take it. Do not eat anything._

Sweets were one of Amelia's favorite things to eat; if left alone, the young maid could probably devour an entire bakery.

Mrs. Coellard sometimes had enough to make éclairs and, on the better days, the foster mother would purchase a few chocolates for the children. Chocolates were usually Amelia's birthday gift from Mrs. Coellard, while her sisters and brothers would pitch in to buy her a hair pin.

She was in her room, lying on her small bed. Her mind was swimming with thoughts.

_My 19th birthday…_

Amelia suddenly remembered her upcoming birthday, December 29th, something she usually did not like to think of. Of course she appreciated Mrs. Coellard's past gifts, but she was saddened by the possibility of her not being home for this birthday. Amelia could perhaps be at the foster home for Christmas day, but she doubted she could stay any longer.

A sigh escaped her mouth.

She understood how important this work was, saving enough until she could find something else. Amelia would have other birthdays; it did not matter.

The flame from the candle was flickering wildly, illuminating her microscopic room. Her amber eyes shifted from the candle to what was left of the red lily, now dry and decaying.

There it was again, that heavy feeling to her chest.

She lifted herself from the bed, deciding to take a bath before retiring to her bed. That usually made her feel a bit better.

…

Amelia changed into her usual cream dress, a thin nightgown on top of the wear. She passed down the maids corridor, walking toward her room. A hushed conversation caught her attention.

She looked toward the other staircase and saw Monsieur Jean, whispering in Anne's ear. The older maid was wearing only a thin nightdress, appearing quite scandalous in front of a man. He kissed her hand passionately, Anne's cheeks flushing quickly.

Amelia ran to her room quietly, shutting the door behind her. She smiled shyly, happy for the other maid. Jean favored her indeed.

She placed her towels and supplies on the drawer, sitting on the small wooden chair. The young woman could sleep a bit, but it was too early for her to be tired.

She unbraided her long hair, putting it in messy halfway style. Her ringlets were shining in the candlelight.

As she placed her hair in her style, something shiny caught her eye on top of her night table. Amelia walked hastily, looking down at the table as her breath was caught in her throat.

A silver key lay near the candle.

Amelia knew who had placed it there before she could even breathe another lungful of air.

Was this an invitation? A permission given?

She would never know if she did not try.

…

Amelia waited until an hour had passed, the usual time where there was not much activity around her. She took a lantern and the key in her hand, covering it over her soft sleeve.

Walking toward the abandoned corridor, she remembered how chilly it was. The young woman was shivering, from the cold and the anticipation.

She found herself in front of the familiar door, the metal lock pulling her forward. Amelia looked around once, then swallowed her fear and placed the key in the lock.

There was a small click from the latch, and it was open.

Amelia felt like it had been years since she had been in the little library; she smiled as she looked around the room, touching the book's spines and feeling slightly complete again.

She was too preoccupied to notice a tall, dark man, sitting on a scrapped wooden chair.

His velvet voice broke through the silence.

"Good Evening."

Amelia jumped against the bookshelf, turning around quickly to look upon Erik, sitting amusingly in the corner. The white of his mask flickered in the fire's light, while a smirk appeared on his lips as he repeated her own greeting that past night.

When she recovered her breath, Amelia stared at him, a mixture of gratefulness, happiness, and curiousness in her eyes.

"It is usually not considered very gallant to scare a mademoiselle," she stated humorously.

The man lifted himself up from the chair and walked toward her quietly, his coat swaying behind him. He looked down unto the young woman, his eyes unreadable.

"Perhaps, but neither is it very elegant to creep into corridors looking for misfortune," he proclaimed sternly.

Amelia opened her mouth to retort, but none came.

"Touché. Tell me, Monsieur, why have you allowed me access? Why now?"

Her heart was fluttering in her chest, waiting for his answer. What was going through his mind?

He did not say a word as he touched the infamous black book beside her, walking toward the familiar secret passage with the lantern, the channel opening steadily.

"Simple. You have earned them."

He stated this calmly. Amelia, however, was still utterly confused. Yet, she knew it was useless badgering him with questions. She knew he would walk away and leave her perplexed again.

Suddenly, the tall man stopped and glanced at the young woman before him.

"I have been…..rude. If you would permit me to show you something…"

He held out his gloved hand, waiting for the young woman to make her decision.

Amelia was thinking rapidly. The monsieur wanted her to come with him, follow him into the acquainted passageway.

_But to where? Do I…trust him? Does he trust me? _

_"_The last occasion, I bothered you with a cut. If I fall again, I know you will not forgive me."

She stated this truthfully, smiling as she remembered the embarrassing tumble.

Erik smiled genuinely, his dark grey eyes shining against the lantern.

"You will not fall again. I am with you."


	7. Bliss

Hello readers! First, I would like to thank every reviewer; it means a lot to me (I say that a lot but it really does!).

I honestly can't believe I am on Chapter 7 of this fanfic! I'm quite excited to write the next following chapters. Think of this as the end of Volume 1. Volume 2 will start on Chapter 8. New adventures, drama, and new lessons to learn coming up.

This is a slightly shorter chapter but there is more to come. I wanted to give a bit more importance to this one.

Please let me know what you think with a review! Enjoy, and see you in the next chapter! :)

* * *

_I let her in; if I am damned, then it is me to blame and no one else. But as I watched her, I knew it was not an illusion. Humans like her existed. Their beauty within is reflected on their faces, full of a different life, a different splendor. She had a splendor I could not witness, for darkness cannot witness light. _

_I tried, however, to stay away. Days passed, and I thought I could be stronger than her pull._

_I failed._

_I knew I had rejected her kindness, shunned her. Whatever I had beating inside me, it thrust forward with a pain, a pain I was no accustomed to. A pain being caused by her._

_My hands wrote the familiar notes, composed what I felt, I read, and I ventured forth. All to forget her. _

_But I failed._

_And now, as I hold her small hand in mine, I feel a warmth. I am weary of all of this, but I move forward despite my mind warning of what I hide, of what she could never see. What would she do if she ever saw it? Would she run, would she scream? Would she turn away from me like every other human in this world? _

_I look back at her, seeing her finding her steps carefully. She feels my gaze on her dark curls, her soft olive skin. There is no fear in her golden eyes, nor any disgust. There was nothing but curiosity. She was looking at me as if I was another man in her life. A friend._

_The lantern was not the only thing lighting the way. Her smile made the entire corridor brighter. _

_I wanted to show her what the world holds, beside the terror and the evil. There was beauty, hidden in the things around us. This was my gift to her. _

_She was smiling at me, and for once in thirty seven years, there was perhaps a morning after night._

_..._

Amelia's heart was beating madly. She followed the dark man, leading her slowly through the winding corridor. He glanced behind her, a look in his eye she did not recognize. For a second, she recognized the white handkerchief, folded neatly on his coat's pocket.

The young maid smiled at him, to reassure him. She was not going anywhere; she was not afraid.

She was now in that familiar stone passageway, remembering the cut wrist. Instead of venturing down the dark passage, Erik turned toward his right, her hand in his. A short spiral staircase led them further down. Amelia traced her hand along the cold rusting steel, an intricate floral design in its spirals.

It was only a few steps long, spinning the young girl and the Ghost downward until stopping on stone steps. Amelia could hear the echoes of drops of water, a stream possibly nearby.

Amelia was taking everything in, looking around the stone walls, gazing at the man before her. She knew this was dangerous, but at the same time, she felt safe.

Her dress trailed behind her, almost catching itself on a ragged stone. She tripped a bit, but landed safely again.

Erik looked behind him quickly, hearing her irregularity in her steps.

She chuckled at herself, until she noticed his concern in those grey eyes.

"I- I am alright," she assured him. At this, he took her hand and placed in under his arm, her hand around his broad forearm. They walked close together, as if going off to dance at a ball. Her cheeks were flushed, and she stared at her feet.

The corridor ended, opening before them to what was indeed the Opera Ghost's home.

Amelia could not control her mouth, opening in a perfect "o" of astonishment.

There were burning candles everywhere, illuminating the underground home carved underneath the stone of the streets overhead. A murky turquoise lake stood in the middle, shining the light of the fires around it. On the farthest corner, an ancient looking organ stood with pride, layers and layers of sheet music lying in disarray. A path led throughout this home, surrounded by trinkets, lights, different rooms, and endless books.

Her eyes were catching the gleam of the lake. They shined as her mouth stood agape, smiling in amazement. She had never seen such a beautiful place, clouded with a certain magic and mystery.

The Opera Ghost was looking at her, seeing her reaction. He then took her hand again, and guided her to a path, winding around exotic looking benches and furnishings. She could not see before her, the man being tall enough to block her entire view. He led her to somewhere even darker, colder than the main room. The walls followed around them, sharp and icy.

Soon, she could not see a thing, following Erik's gloved hand, the only thing she could feel.

Suddenly, he let go, leaving her in the middle of obscurity.

A blast of light blinded her, Amelia's small hands blocking the sheen.

She then opened her eyes.

It was a small room, but still two or three times larger than her room upstairs in the Opera House.

Her breath was trapped in her lungs; she was forgetting to breathe.

The roof of the room was completely made out of pieces of glass, thousands and thousands of colors reflecting the golden candelabra in the middle. There were unusual lamps decorated with patterns of flora, hanging like gems. A violin, a cello, and a large burgundy piano stood proudly against the back wall. The walls themselves were made out of bookshelves, dark cherry wood encompassing hundreds of tomes. They called out for her.

Amelia had to spin round to take it all in, staring at the ceiling like a star-studded sky. There were tears in her eyes, countless emotions running through her heart.

He had been staring at her the entire time.

"This is my personal collection. All that you see is my refuge…but this could be prized more if there was your fulfillment."

Amelia stared at him incredulously. Did he truly mean this? Was he letting her access to this?

This was all too much.

"This is all just a dream…" She whispered to herself. The young woman had never had anything this large for her enjoyment, and now this man was offering his own library, acquiescence into his mysterious life.

It was perhaps the kindest action anyone had ever done for her.

Amelia tried to thank him, trying to find the correct words, yet she was utterly speechless.

He understood her, however.

The tears spilled down her smooth cheeks, as she smiled radiantly toward him. He walked to her, his eyes dark yet gentle.

"There is much to absorb. Now… where do we begin?"


	8. Inferno

Hey guys!  
Welcome to "Volume 2" of _A World for Us_. This is the start of the next set of chapters, where friendships transform and new dilemmas occur. Amelia will be facing new situations while our Opera Ghost discovers he does indeed possess a heart.

I am also currently reading Phantom, by Susan Kay. If you havent checked it out yet,I thoroughly recommend it!  
Thank you to every single of you for your kind reviews and follows! I appreciate them immensely.  
This is a short chapter but the next one will be quite long, coming very soon.  
Again, thank you, keep reviewing (please and thank you) and enjoy! :)

* * *

It felt like days inside that sparkling room, the fur rug and cushions comfortable enough to make you forget the world. In reality, the young maid was only a few hours there. But if she could stay there forever, Amelia would have jumped at the opportunity.

The candles flickered brightly above them, giving them enough illumination to discuss Erik's favorite subjects and philosophers.  
Amelia listened intently, not missing a word. They started with A History of Ancient Europe, With emphasis in Western Exploration, one marked thoroughly by the Opera Ghost himself. They ended with America, the bustling empire in the west.  
He went through the first tome steadily, but fast enough for Amelia to have a synopsis of each chapter.

Next was Persia's Rulers and Conquest, one of Erik's favorites. Amelia found this to be as exotic as the lamps above them.

Amelia was sitting with her hands on her chin, listening to his deep baritone voice and asking questions sparingly, trying not to frustrate Erik with her inquiries. But Erik answered them with a strange patience, one he usually did not have.

It truly could have been days and Amelia would not have noticed. She was too intrigued by all  
this knowledge, things she did not know about the earth. And they had only touched two books.

Erik was aware it was quite past midnight, but he wanted to give her a glimpse of what is above them. This would be the last book of the night.

"This is key into understanding our universe..." He proclaimed, pulling out a tattered cerulean book. "The words on the cover were too faded to be legible.  
Amelia accommodated herself better in order to see the pages, her cream dress sprawled on the rug. Her curls were quite messy as she tried to calm them down with her hands, a habit, but to no avail.

The Opera Ghost knelt down beside her, the proximity close but still respectful. Amelia had to look up to see the book in his gloved hands, smelling his strong alluring scent. She maintained her distance, however, to make him more comfortable.  
It seemed he did appreciated his personal space.

Secretly, Erik wondered how her head would feel against his shoulder. She would be more comfortable and he would be...content.  
He wanted her close again; another time, perhaps.

He read to her from Astronomical Doubts and Beliefs, pointing out the first theories of Hipparchus, Aristotle, Copernicus and Galileo. A brief summary of the olden beliefs about the Sun, Moon, and our surrounding planets was taught.  
Amelia understood the concepts well, but nevertheless she definitely needed to review these facts again.

The Opera Ghost and the young maiden discussed this subject until Amelia suddenly had the urge to yawn. No, she was not at all getting tired of the lesson, but she was getting physically tired.  
It had been a long day.

She tried closing her mouth discreetly, in order to stifle the yawn, but unfortunately for her, the older man was aware of any movement around him.

"Getting exhausted, are we? You do have quite a busy day tomorrow. How irresponsible of you to stay up so late when you have plans for tea.."  
He stated this sternly, but the hint in his eyes told Amelia it was a irritating jest.

Her scowl only made Erik smirk.

"You are an accomplice to all this, Monsieur...wait, hold on, H-How on earth do you know about that?", Amelia asked.  
She knew he had secret crooks and hiding places around the Opera House, but she wanted to find out about more about him, one question at a time.

"Are you an acquaintance with Madam? Does she-? Do you speak to her?"  
Amelia was too curious for her own good. Madam was always so vague; was Erik the one who told her what had happened with Monsieur Jean?

Erik stared at her through the snow-white mask; any other woman would have been nervous.

But his eyes were gentle as he closed the tome in his hands.

"Questions for another day, another life perhaps. You should be retiring to your quarters."

It was surprising how frustrating this man could be, Amelia realized. But now she knew Madam was in communication with the Ghost in some way. That is all she would find out tonight, unfortunately.

He rose beside her, his necktie ruffling with his coat.  
His voice cut through the air.

"What instrument can you play? Are you adept? Can you sing?"

Amelia was surprised at his sudden questions, then looked down shamefully.

"Ah...no, Monsieur. Neither."

"Have you practiced dance before?"

Another moment of silence.

She shook her head, her cheeks becoming hot.  
"No."

She looked to see his grey eyes, looking for anger or disappointment. There was none.

"We will continue this tomorrow night, 11 o' clock. We will begin every night with a analytical approach to these volumes, then perhaps teach you the basics of music. I expect you on time...if this is what you wish."

He stated this fiercely.

"Oh, of course, Monsieur! But...ahem... I-I may not know of those arts that you mentioned, but um..."

He waited, those grey eyes burning hers.

Erik would be her guide through these books; Amelia was not very good at singing, nor did she know how to play any of the instruments behind her, yet, she could still show him her only gift, a thank you of sorts.

"I can tell stories, Monsieur."

His eyes narrowed at her statement. This did not help in diminishing the blush on Amelia's cheeks.

"Well, I used to tell stories to my brothers and sisters at the orphanage where I grew up. They seemed to like them."

Amelia stated meekly. Erik did not move for a few moments, still looking down at her.  
He nodded slightly, seeming uninterested in her talent, and offered her his gloved hands.

It was time to depart for the night. much to Amelia's chagrin.

He did not say a word as he led her back into the abandoned library, accompanying her to the familiar room. Amelia followed, leaning against his arm. Why did she always blush as the faintest of touches?

Amelia was again highly confused, not knowing whether he was angry or perhaps bored with her after their first night of 'lessons'.

They arrived in the familiar room, the Opera Ghost helping her through the dark opening. His eyes seemed to be elsewhere.

As he turned around to leave, Erik's voice resounded against the cold room.

"11 o clock sharp. Do not be late. I would also like to hear  
one of your 'stories' tomorrow ... If that does not bother you..."

He said this stiffly, not accustomed to asking for things. But he was too intrigued.

This young maiden intrigued him more than he would care to admit. And he wanted to know more, of the storytelling or Amelia herself, he did not know.

She smiled at him again.

"I would be happy to.  
Thank you...for everything. I- do not know what to say. I want to say so many things but all I can think of is..Thank you. I look forward to tomorrow.  
Good night, Monsieur Erik."

She smiled brilliantly once again. Amelia stood there in the middle of the room, not knowing whether to shake his hand, or show her gratitude as a gesture of sorts.

She blushed quickly, putting the idea of embracing the Opera Ghost out of her mind.

_Thank the heavens it is dark._

As if hearing her thoughts, Erik held out his hand to her.

Amelia was caught off guard once again, but remembering her manners, gave him her small hand.

He touched his lips to the smooth skin, strangely, then gracefully, as if he was not accustomed to such an act. The young maidens heart beat madly against her rib cage. The lump in her throat would not disappear.

His lips were like fire, as if leaving a burn on her skin.

The Opera Ghost turned around and departed through the opening, leaving Amelia in a flustered disbelief and her pulse pounding in her ears. 


	9. Antiquity

Hello Readers! I apologize for the slight delay in updates; it has been a very busy week for me, plus my 20th birthday was Monday, so I unfortunately have not had much time to sit down and write.

This chapter is short...and perhaps not very eventful. But is is very important! There is something in the chapter that signifies something quite large in the coming chapters. So, although short, it gives some back story to Amelia. I am working on the next one and it'll be up soon!

Thank you for the reviews and follows. I appreciate you sticking with me. :)

Much love, and enjoy!

* * *

There was a sudden rapping at the door. It was a harsh sound, echoing through the miniature room. Amelia woke up with the pounding at the door, her hair in a dark disarray. Her golden eyes were half opened as her mind tried to remember where exactly she was. Another hard knock at the door broke the drowsiness of sleep. In a second, she was out of her bed, trying to smooth out her hair.

"O-one moment please!"

She covered herself in her night shawl, and opened the door only a few inches.

Anne stood stiffly, her maid's uniform already dirty from the morning work. There was an inpatient spark in her eye, her thin lips in a grimace. She held a letter in her hand.

"About damn time, dear. You'll be late to your little tea party," Anne stated, mocking the young maid.

Amelia was still half asleep but not in the mood for Anne's jesting attitude.

"Wait, what time is it? How much did I oversleep?!"

Anne laughed coyly.

"Calm down, it's a quarter past ten. You've still got time."

Amelia sighed deeply in relief. If she would have slept through her invitation, she did not think she could forgive herself.

The older maid smiled genuinely and handed her the letter. Amelia looked down and recognized Mrs. Coellard's fine writing.

"This came for you," Anne replied, tossing the letter gently towards her co-worker.

"Oh, thank you. And thank you for…ahem, waking me. I appreciate it."

Anne smiled proudly and turned around on her way. She waved and carried on into the hallway.

Amelia quickly cleaned herself up in the bathroom and changed in her quarters. She placed her hair in a low braid, falling down her shoulder. Amelia had trouble picking an outfit, not having many dresses to begin with.

She did not want to go in the same red cotton dress she wore with Meg on their last outing. The young maid then chose her last simple white dress with a high neckline. She made a mental note to go into town soon for a new dress.

Amelia had awoken with such urgency that she had not had time to ponder the previous night's rendezvous. Yet, tonight at 11 o clock sharp, Amelia had another lesson with the Opera Ghost.

Her heartbeat was quickening just pondering about the appointment.

She sat on the small table and held Mrs. Coellard's letter in her hand. Perhaps she had time to read over her foster mother's latest letter.

_Later, then. I will wonder about you, Monsieur, later_.

Amelia hurriedly read over the small letter, her golden eyes dancing upon the intricate writing. Everything was going well over at the orphanage, Mrs. Coellard busy but happy. The children are busy making surprises for when the young maid visits. The foster mother asks of when she will visit. She prays for Amelia every night.

The last paragraph was different than the usual goodbye.

_"Michel made a mess the other day in the attic. But thank Heavens for the boy! I found my old jewelry box, the one you used to love when you were a child. I have also found the picture I had commissioned for the opening of the orphanage, so many years ago. I believe you were four at the time. You used to love viewing it; it had been lost all these years. _

_It is yours, my dear. I knew you would appreciate it such an old treasure; it is the only one there is, so take care of it. I know you will."_

The letter ended with many blessings and wishes of love and prosperity for the young maid.

Amelia reached into the letter and took out a small rectangular piece of paper. It was still glossy, yet crumbling in the edges, the fine paper taking on a dust color. The picture was almost fifteen years of age. She knew these photographs were quite popular, and to have one of her childhood was a treasure indeed.

She could even remember looking upon the picture so many years ago. And as she glanced at the photograph in her hands, memories became vivid in her mind while her heart beat against her chest.

Mrs. Coellard was sitting with a beautiful elegance, her stern eyes gazing straight into the viewer. She was in her forties, but still retaining a classic beauty to her aging features. She held a baby in her hands, while an older boy stood proudly behind her. Amelia did not remember their names, but she did remember their faces. Children that had left or been adopted before her, the cycle of the orphanage.

To the foster mother's right stood a toddler, looking directly at the camera. A dark mass of curls were on the child's small head, her clear eyes solemn for such a youth. Her skin was a beautiful olive tone.

There it was again, that strange heavy feeling her heart. Amelia had to put down the photograph.

She did not want to think about who had left her at the orphanage, or why they did not want her, or perhaps why they could not keep her.

Amelia was very good at shutting away those feelings, and today would not be the day that she would feel the familiar pain.

Amelia placed the photograph on the wooden table.

After a few breaths, she left her quarters.

* * *

He did not sleep that night. He was aware he could use a couple hours of sleep, but perhaps the next night, after the young maid would leave.

There was a strange feeling to that thought. That word: leave. The Opera Ghost found that quite interesting; his mind felt a sudden sadness that she would eventually leave.

But that is natural. She was here for knowledge…not _him_.

The tall man was over his organ, his slender fingers dancing on the olden keys. His mind was racing, and suddenly, he stopped to write down another complicated note on the music sheet. He erased it frantically, then rewrote it. He then grew exasperated, and crumbled the paper in his hands. It joined the other heaps of paper on the stone floor.

He was keeping himself busy, something he usually did not need to try to achieve.  
But he was anxious.

This would be a very long day.


	10. Promise

Hello readers! Thank you for all the beautiful reviews; also, thanks for the birthday wishes! You guys are the best.

Well, heres Chapter 10, a big chapter indeed. It is probably one of the largest chapters to date.

Let me know what you think!

Enjoy.

* * *

The Giry household was truly close to the Opera house, only a few steps down the street. It was near a tall tree, giving the stone facade of the Parisian townhouse a welcoming look.

Meg's dress was hurriedly following behind her lean figure, her blond curls moved as she spoke. She was utterly excited, grateful for Amelia's visit.

She led her friend in, hugged her tightly and introduced her to their home.

When she entered the abode, Amelia's eyes surveyed curiously around her. It was not at all what she was expecting; it was very bright in the townhouse, the sunlight streaming in and the furnishings made up of a light-colored wood.

From what the young maid had seen Madam Giry wearing and her own office, she expected a darker setting to her home.

She was quite surprised.

A small but delightful chandelier illuminated the entrance area. Meg held her hand and led her forward into the hallway, a small drawer being home to a few family portraits. The young maid noticed a picture of Meg as a child, in a small ruffled skirt. There was a candle next to one of the pictures; the photograph showed a handsome man with a heavy beard. Amelia noticed Meg had his bright blue eyes.

She also noticed there was no picture of Madam herself.

Soon, the young maid was sitting in the living room, where Meg ushered her in kindly. A large bay window displayed the busy street below, the tree giving a bit or shade; the furniture in the room was adorned with beautiful patterns of animals and cherubs.

Amelia absentmindedly touched the soft fabric.

On the glass table in front of her, an assortment of cakes and sweets awaited patiently for the girls. Amelia had never seen so many colors on food, let alone desserts. She quickly calmed her grumbling stomach; the usual broth, bread and occasional sandwich could get repetitive quite quickly.

Meg sat beside her in the smaller seat, her bright green gown splayed beneath her.

"Oh I am so happy you came! It can get quite lonely here."

She beamed a kind smile as she discussed her home.

"I love that tree, there. I don't know its name, but in the spring, pink flowers bloom in bunches. You'd love them!"

"It is quite grand. Well, all of this is."

"Oh, you are too kind. My father's old furnishings, you see. He loved this type of wood."

"Is he...the man in the picture...?"

Meg smiled, a sad tint to her eyes.

"Yes. That's papa."

Amelia was about to ask her more about her father when the wooden door opened, a thump resounded against the walls.

Madam emerged from the kitchen with a silver tray of tea in her hands. She wore her usual tight bun, while her black dress looked off compared to her cheerful surroundings. Her black pearl earrings touched her cheeks delicately.

"Welcome, my dear. I hope no one gave you trouble for coming here. The Opera Populaire is home to all kinds of personalities..."

She gracefully placed the tray on the table next to the sweets, taking a seat in the front furnishing. Madam gave a curt nod to Meg.

"Oh not at all, Madam. Everything went well," Amelia responded courteously.

Meg then nodded in return and proceeded to serve the tea, pouring the water with the mixture of leaves.

"Cream and sugar?" Meg asked kindly.

"Yes, please, thank you, "Amelia replied.

Meg placed the porcelain cup in her hands, adorned with small bouquets of flowers. Amelia could smell ginger, vanilla and perhaps something more.

Amelia waited until the two other women had their own cups of tea in order to taste hers. It must have been one of the best teas she had ever tasted. She was used to the usual plain tea at the orphanage; this was a revelation.

"Heavens...this is wonderful, Madam. Thank you!"

Amelia sipped her tea happily.

"Taste the macaroons! We get them from a bakery on Sierna street," Meg declared as she popped a purple sweet into her mouth.

Madam Giry continued to sip her tea.

Amelia shyly reached for the sweet, taking a green macaroon.

It took some chewing, but the taste overtook her senses. She was too busy enjoying it to witness Meg giggling and Madam Giry stifling a laugh.

"Oh, I-I am sorry, did I do something...?"

Meg tried calming her giggling as she indicated Amelia's mouth.

The young maid's hands touched her lips as she realized the messy amount of sugar on the outside of her mouth.

Turning a dark shade of scarlet, she wiped the sugar from her cheek with a napkin, making Meg laugh even more.

After a few moments, Madam Giry's stern voice broke the silence.

"Now, my dear, tell us. You have been quite busy but we barely know about you. Are you from Paris or a traveler of such?"

"A bit outside of Paris, Ma'am. You would need to take a carriage. But it is a beautiful road, the path to my home, Coellards."

Madam lifted her eyes from her cup of tea and laid them upon the young maid. She was familiar with the name of the orphanage. Yet, the maid had said it so casually, so innocently.

"Ah...forgive me. I did not mean to ask unwanted questions. "

"It is quite alright, Ma'am! No harm. I lived there all my life, well, since I was very young. My Foster mother is the best at her job. She taught me all I know"

Amelia proclaimed proudly, yet a a slight solemnness to her voice. She pushed those feelings away again, smiling.

"Was it very hard...? Living with many other children..?" Meg asked meekly.

"No, not really. It never got lonely. And I was always happy to see the adoptions pass. That made the days exciting. There were beautiful occasions for all of us. A little sad...but still happy."

The mood grew grave despite Amelia's objective. Usually people did not want to hear of orphans or their misfortunes; she quickly changed the subject.

"Your house is simply gorgeous," Amelia stated, taking in her surroundings once again.

"It has been our home for only a few years, but I have grown fond of it all the same," Madam replied.

"Later I could show you my room! You can see the rooftops of the city and everything," Meg stated, offering another macaroon to Amelia. The young maid simply could not resist.

The three women talked in peace for some time, discussing the city, the shops, and Christmas plans. Meg asked Amelia countless questions, Madam failing to try and calm her daughter down.

"What do you do for fun?"

"Oh, telling stories?

You must tell me one!"

"We should shop again, it was so much fun the last time!"

Amelia did notice Madams frustration, and answered cheerfully. It was awfully nice being asked a lot of questions; it made the young maid feel important.

Madam asked a few, a professional host indeed.

An hour had passed; Amelia's stomach was content with its wonderful meal of sweets and delicious tea. She was definitely not used to such things.

Madam then went into the kitchen once again, finding a new tray for the girls.

She quickly returned however, her face in serious frustration.

"Oh Meg, the tartes...I completely must have forgotten to order them. This is unbelievable."

Madam stated, her tall figure bent graceful in consternation.

"It's quite alright, Ma'am, I do not think I could eat another bite."

"Nonsense, they are the best tartes in Paris. Meg, dear, here. Do me a very big favor and run down to the bakery and get them for me."

Meg lifted herself up rapidly.

"Oh, Yes Mother! I'll be back soon."

She grabbed the francs in Madam Giry's hand, grabbed her handbag, and left through the door.

"I do appreciate this immensely, but you did not need to this,"

Amelia replied, feeling guilty.

Madam sat in front of her, her eyes dark but curious.

"I must have forgotten them indeed. Now...in order to protect Meg from all of this, I wanted to speak to you privately. Has he frightened you? Hurt you?"

Amelia almost chocked on her tea.

"Ma'am...what? What are you talking about?"

Her lips were taught as she responded.

"There is not much that happens in the opera house that I am not aware of. The Opera Ghost is one of them...and your curiosity for abandoned books."

Amelia grew scarlet again.

"How do you-?"

But she quickly shut herself up, knowing the answer already. Erik was in communication with Madam; did she seem him as a monster...or beyond that? Like Amelia herself...?

"To answer your question ma'am, no...he has done nothing but help me."

Madams eyes lower themselves to her cup, surprise in her pupils. But she was not done warning this innocent girl.

"You must be very careful when dealing with this man...His temper knows no bounds. His voice, his music can both lift you and crush you. You cannot trust him, Amelia."

_His music...?_

This was too much information to take in in one sitting. There was definitely more to Erik than Amelia would ever know.

_Unless I pursue it..._

"But you do, Ma'am. He has told you what happened with Monsieur Jeane, you trusted him for that. You know he is no monster!"

Amelia responded vehemently.

She respected Madam but she had to defend Erik. Perhaps she was being naive but she wanted to find that out herself, if need be.

It was the first time she saw shock in Madams dark eyes. Then surprisingly, shame.

Madam felt as if she was betraying Erik's trust, but she had to warn Amelia.

"I have written to him asking to watch over you, that is all. I never speak to him directly. Not because I resent him, or because I think him to be...a monster, as everyone says. I respect him. I am wary of him. He is powerful...a genius. I-...I have known him for quite a while...I know..."

"Since when?"

Amelia's curiosity would be her downfall, for sure.

"Years. Perhaps decades. I have seen him...he does have a heart, but I believe he does not know it himself. What I do know is you must be careful. Promise me you will be careful!"

Madam raised her voice slightly.

Amelia looked down at her cup of tea, becoming cold.

"I promise you. But I can also promise you, he is good."

The young maids eyes met the Madams, a spark in those amber orbs. The ballet instructor had not seen that sort of spark in years.

The main door opened suddenly to reveal a panting Meg with a white box, sealed with a red ribbon.

"I am back mother! Here we are,"

Meg stated, as she placed the box in the middle table.

Madams shifted and beamed a smile.

"Thank you, my dear. Let me make more tea."

* * *

As she combed her damp hair, Amelia's mind was racing with thoughts. Tea with Madam had gone...strangely. This was all strange to Amelia. And she would find out more.

I_s it even my business? Should I be meddling into these affairs? Could Madam...be right? Is she right? Perhaps I should listen to her.._

But he had welcomed her into his home, taught her from his books. He had opened the door, and she had walked in without a look back.

She did not regret anything, however. He was fascinating, and that was just the thin surface of the deep water.

Amelia found herself yet again through the dark cold corridor, entering the abandoned library.

Tonight she would find out more.

She stood in the room, the lantern flickering wildly. Taking a deep breath, Amelia waited.

"How surprising...you are early."

His baritone voice came from the corner bookcase. Tonight, however, he wore a ruffled white shirt, his long sleeved arms folding in front of him.

Amelia could almost see the dark hairs growing on his chest; she averted her eyes quickly.

"When told a certain time, that usually indicates a promise. I do not break promises."

Amelia responded, imitating Erik's usual grave tone.

She also remembered her own promise to Madam Giry. She would be careful and tread softly.

Erik shrugged nonchalantly , opening the passageway for Amelia. His white mask seemed dark in the dim light.

Amelia smiled and walked through, the Opera Ghost close behind her.

They walked steadily, Erik walking ahead to take her by the hand, leading her carefully so that she would not slip. Amelia was prepared for the usual cold; she remembered to bring her night shawl.

Soon, they were in his lair, his home. Amelia noticed the pile of music sheets packed together in one of the edges of the winding steps.

"_His music can both lift you and crush you_"

Madams voice in her head again.

That is when Amelia suddenly stopped in her tracks. Erik noticed the absence in her steps and turned around.

She had a look of fierce resolute, her full lips pursed. It occurred to Erik she was trying to put up a courageous front, stubborn as she was.

"Yes...?"

Amelia placed her hand on her hip.

"I am not moving until you tell me who you are."

His mask glared at her.

"You already are acquainted with my name."

Erik responded curtly.

"Yes, and that is all I am acquainted with, and your books. But you! You expect me to follow without knowing about your story, your passions...your voice."

He looked at her menacingly with those dark grey eyes. But it did not scare her.

"You are not ready. I do not believe you ever will be..."He declared.

"I am. I have many questions, and perhaps not tonight, or tomorrow, but eventually, I pray you trust me enough to tell me about yourself, about your home, about what makes you...you."

She mentally cursed herself for sounding childish but it was the only way to explain her feelings of curiosity. It was not to pester, but to understand.

He lowered his head , looking towards the crystalline lake. The dark eyes suddenly saddened into obscurity.

Amelia noticed how the countless candles caught the auburn in in his dark hair. His large brow furrowed, in a silent fight.

She approached him slowly, his tall figure towering over her lean petite body. He caught her eye.

Her hand touched his large shoulder softly, trying to calm his hurried thoughts.

Amelia smiled at him, looking utterly beautiful in the candlelight.

"Not tonight, nor tomorrow."

He looked down at her, finding nothing but understanding in her eyes.

She would not rush him, nor turn away from him.

"But tonight...sing for me?"

Erik stared at her, another unreadable expression in his eyes.

Was she ready?

He was aware of the power of his voice, the tantalizing control he could have over others.

He did not wish that upon Amelia.

Yet, there was a part of him that wanted her in his control, her lips parting for him and only him.

Was she truly ready...?

He shook himself out of his thoughts and took her hand, leading her into their study room. It was already illuminated, the glass ceiling sparkling like jewels.

Erik led her down unto a large forest green cushion. Her simple dress spread around her, Amelia's eyes never leaving his.

He walked toward the other end, keeping a distance for her own good.

Amelia was starting to feel disappointment in her heart, but that feeling fluttered away as Erik's mouth opened slightly.

It was as if the young maid was hearing for the first time in her life. No other voice or sound was as sweet at the one coming from the man's throat, his deep voice singing the notes effortlessly and perfectly.

She did not recognize the song, but realized it was in another language. But she did not need to know what language it was for it to consume her being, her very thoughts.

The song was warm, but it reminded her of the fresh fallen snow in her dreams. It was soft to the touch yet strong enough to pierce her soul.

She closed her eyes, envisioning the strange snow. There it was again, the cold feeling.

What was that? That sudden dread...

His eyes were closed as he ended his song, his head raised to the heavens.

There was deep silence afterward. He opened his eyes slowly, his chest heaving slightly. The glass ceiling caught the white of his mask, reflecting the numerous colors.

Erik looked upon the young maid.

Her head was resting against the cushion, as her amber eyes were glittering with tears. Yet she was smiling.

She was not in his control, nor hypnotized by his voice.

She had been awakened.

Amelia did not know what to do but lift herself up and walk towards him. She bent down beside him, his eyes full of confusion.

This was unladylike, this was unseen. But in this moment, she did not care.

She fell unto him, embracing him fervently. His breath escaped him, as his audible gasp echoed in the chamber.

His clothed chest was warm against her small head, his scent filling her being. She was melting into him.

The tears were falling down her cheeks as she was reminded of the home she never had.


	11. Sea and Sky

Hello readers! Hope you all are enjoying Erik and Amelia's journey into trust and (well, eventually) love.

Thanks to all the follows and reviews. Christmas in Paris is coming soon, and new twists are coming. We will see how Amelia tackles them. And how Erik wrestles his own desires.

Let me know what you think of this chapter. :)

Enjoy!

* * *

_Those eyes. Those eyes cut through me, cut into cut every hold, every tie in my body that pulsated for touch many years ago_.

_They are familiar, familiar in the way a dream seems to burn into old memory. _

_Had I witnessed them before? Or am I confusing them with the sun? _

_This sensation, this want. _

_I killed it and murdered before my very eyes long ago, as if it could never take over my senses._

_ I was not a human, I did not belong to that race. I was beyond _the scope of human love.

_The lanterns above us were glistening like I intended them to do. I could see very clearly tears bordering on her bright eyes. _

_Had my voice driven her into despair? Had her mind become a another empty shell of control, my control? _

_No I would not pray. I will not make that mistake, like many pitiful others. I would never join them in that outrageous sham, that fallacy built on emptiness. _

_But I hoped, yes hoped, for her sake she could still see me, and not just what I could sing. I hoped._

_I must have forgotten to breath, for she was walking toward me with a strange patience. My lungs stopped as she knelt in front of me. _

_My heart then burst in its cage._

I felt her, the heat from her beautiful body on mine. Her slim arms were around what she could touch.

_A gasp was ushered in the room, when I realized I was to the blame for the sound. How infantile, how childish! I would not harbor on that, however_.

_My life had stopped in this moment. _

_I could feel her tears falling gracefully on my shirt, a moisture on my arm. I stopped myself from releasing my own tears. _

_Why had she cried? Was It just my voice, or her own inner demons?_

_How can she even have such thoughts, a child like her? _

_But I knew the answer already. There was more to this young woman that I would ever see; she would not show me her mind, I did not deserve such a blessing. _

_Perhaps..._

_Yes. Perhaps I could glimpse into it, just a glimpse_.

_So this is what I have studied, what I have absorbed. This was an embrace; this was affection. I could have sworn I would never experience anything from the human world besides hate, rage, and my belligerent temper. _

_But this...this would be the end of me. This would be that sweet death I have been waiting for. _

_Yet could I even call it that name? Perhaps a more beautiful label?_

_Before I could stop the bastard, my right arm was reaching for her. I wanted to embrace her tighter into me, as if I could have some of her innocence, a piece of heaven she had acquired merely from her birth. Yes, that was her fate, as beautiful as her eyes, as her soul. _

_The moment my hand touched her slim back was the moment I had sold my soul to the only god I believed in._

_..._

The air suddenly was cold against Amelia's skin; without a thought, she held on to him, feeling his warmth spread to her chest. Her hands were around his waist, or what they could reach. She took the appearance of a perfect doll, her body so small compared to the tall man she was embracing. Her curls made a cascading dark wave, falling like the tears on her tanned skin.

Madam Giry's warnings seemed to dissipate into thin air, as she held him. They were there, surely, in the back of her mind. But in this moment, her mind was filled with a that same strange dream.

Or was it a memory?

Cold snowflakes falling like white crystals from the sky. Nothing else but the powdery substance against her skin.

The tears fell freely until her golden eyes were reddened and tired.

All the boundaries, all the walls came crashing down like thunder on a dry, dying tree, obliterating into nothing. Amelia was a strong woman, but as soon as Erik had opened his mouth, his song to her, she became a child again. A very frightened child that needed affection and warmth. And him.

She realized she needed Him.

Suddenly she felt a very light sensation on her back.

His large hand was on her back, light as the snowflakes in her memory.

He had returned her touch.

That is when she realized how close he was to her bosom, how intoxicating his perfume was, and how his heart was beating rapidly in tune with hers.

Her senses came back to her in a flash, her lovely face reddening with embarrassment of her unbecoming actions.

_Oh...what have I done_...

Amelia dared to look above her, trying to discover his reaction to all this.

Would he be angry? Would she be a victim of his rage, his temper, as Madam Giry had said?

She had been so...indecent.

She lifted her face, her heart beating madly and almost painfully.

It was nothing of what she feared. There was only gentleness in his dark eyes; she noticed a glint of yellow in his right eye, the side hidden by the white mask.

There was no fury, but a sad happiness, something she had never seen in him in the past few months.

She felt so small in his arms.

It was like holding on to a smoldering fire, encompassing her completely.

Amelia let her eyes dart down to his thin lips.

Suddenly, she pulled away, frightened and ashamed at her thoughts. Amelia felt her cheeks becoming extremely warm, knowing how red she must be.

She lifted herself up, her back hitting the dark bookcase abruptly.

"F-forgive me...forgive me! I did not...oh God..."

The young maid was doing her very best not to cry again.

It took the Opera Ghost a few moments himself to return to the current situation, his own thoughts in another world.

He lifted himself gracefully, quite the opposite of Amelia.

"I-I should...I should go..."

His voice snapped her out of her embarassment.

"Amelia."

Her eyes were wide, the young maids reddened eyes looking up at the dark tall figure in front of her.

It was the first time he had ever said her name. He said it with a caress, a melody she had never heard in her life. He made her name sound...beautiful.

It shut her racing thoughts instantly.

"Sit."

He commanded her, a power in his voice.

Amelia sighed softly, knowing it was quite futile to leave.

He gestured her down into the soft exotic rug, helping her down into the floor.

She could not meet his eye without turning another bright shade.

Erik sat down next to her, another graceful move. The young maid could not believe how he could move so delicately for such a tall man.

She was barely five feet tall and she moved as swiftly as an elephant, as Amelia had just shown against the bookcase.

The young maid felt his eyes on her. He was completely silent.

_Oh_,_ what is he thinking? How am I supposed to find out more about him when I have acted like a...like a fool? How is he supposed to trust me...?_

She went to open her mouth, trying to offer some kind of explanation, but his stern voice beat her to it.

"You think you could just escape without your lesson..?"

Amelia met his eyes, a stern yet kind glint to his eyes.

Her nervousness disappeared a little, the air becoming a bit less thick.

She smiled shyly.

"Oh... of course. That was precisely my idea," Amelia replied, her voice brimming with sarcasm.

This made Erik chuckle, a dark sound Amelia found rather pleasing.

He met her eye and simultaneously reached behind him, grabbing a earth-colored book.

Erik opened the tome and commenced the lesson.

Amelia was surprised at his composure, his calm. He did not seem offended or even scorned by her actions. He was in control.

What Amelia was not aware of was know is the intensity and heart-wrenching battle currently in Erik's heart.

But he knew control more than anyone.

He read from the tome, all in Latin. But Erik translated perfectly, patiently explains the theories of the moon. The tome was just on the moon herself, legends and folk tales.

They discussed Eastern and Western tales takes on our only orbiting friend.

They were all very fascinating, especially the Japanese takes on the moon.

Imagining cutting into a bamboo one day to find the moon princess!

Amelia listened with a growing interest in all this. But she could not help noticing how he spoke of this science, the wonder in his eyes.

He was sharing this with her.

They sat under the lanterns for a while, Erik's voice resounded like a deep wind chime.

When he finished, the tall man closed the tome in his hands, crossed his long arms, and leaned against few cushion behind him. Amelia looked at him, confused.

His dark eyes were watching her expectedly.

"Um...what?"

He rolled his eyes.

"You owe me a tale yourself."

_Ah, the story. Why had I forgotten about that...? I have not even thought of what to say! Calm yourself. You know this. You have done this before._

But it was even more nerve wrecking with Erik watching so intensely. His gaze had that affect on her skin.

She straightened her back, a curl sticking up from her hair amusingly. Amelia looked down, gathering her thoughts.

She took a deep breath.

A picture of the moon surfaced in her mind. She had told a similar story about the moon to her brothers and sisters, but after acquiring new information, Amelia had a new story to tell.

I _do hope I do not bore him.._.

"Once, very long ago, the Moon lived peacefully in the silent sky. She looked after the world from the heavens.."

The young maid was looking up Into the colorful cieling, the candlelight making her amber eyes glow. Amelia did not know it but she looked even more breathtaking than usual. The dimness made the entire room seem warm.

Erik was watching her, away from her petite figure,yet following her every word. But he was a master at disguising his emotions, and he would not show them at this moment.

"She looked after the humans every night. It was her responsibility. Yet there was one man, a fisherman, that fished his catch in the late hours of the morning. The moon looked after him especially, curious as every night, the fisherman would take his humble boat and go out into the middle of the sea.

"He would catch a few fish, happy to have enough to eat. But the Moon wanted him to be happier, so she made the waves larger, bringing in more fish from the deep sea."

She glanced at the Opera Ghost, sitting nonchalantly, but not taking his eyes away from her.

"When the fisherman went out again during a very cold night, the moon was large enough to make the entire night bright as the sun. He caught hundreds of fish, his smile a beautiful sight for the grand Moon."

"Every night was the same. The Fisherman was able to catch hundreds of fish. But one night, the moon had been tired and was very small, waning away. She fell into a deep sleep, her crescent shape disappearing into the night.

"The man did not catch any fish. Neither did he the next day. And the next day. He became so taciturn, so sorrowful that he stopped fishing all

Together."

Amelia's voice grew soft, thinking. She did not look at Erik, but she knew she had the man waiting for her words.

"The moon soon returned, a beautiful large crescent in the sky. But it had been too late. The fisherman had drowned in the waves, thinking he had seen a fish, one he so desperately needed..."

"The moon cried endlessly, the waves being their most tremulous and dangerous. Her crying was endless."

"One night, however, bright new stars appeared in the sky. It was brighter than most of the stars around her. When she cleared her eyes of tears, the Moon realized the surrounding stars made the shape of a fish."

"The fishermans soul had swam

up into the heavens. The bright fish swam in the darkness of the night, following the moon throughout the cosmos. They traveled the stars together..."

"Now, on every cold night seen from the earth, the moon and the constellation are known to swim until reaching the end of the horizon, waiting again for their chance to dance through the night."

Her mind returned to the present.

Amelia stopped speaking; she had never been so nervous about telling a story. She always told it as she went, never writing them down or memorizing them. It was a new one every night at the orphanage.

She looked up at Erik, his head absentmindedly leaning against a deep royal purple cushion. His eyes were unreadable, his face surprisingly soft. He looked darkly handsome, his slightly bare chest moving up and down with his calm breathing.

His arms were not crossed any longer, but also leaning against the pillow. The mask seemed to glow once again.

It took him a few seconds to go

back to his serious self.

He straightened himself.

"You tell stories...just simple stories..."

Erik spoke, to himself or to Amelia, the young maid did not know.

She was puzzled; had he hated her story that much?

He stood up, towering above her small figure. Erik seemed not himself in this moment, but the phantom that he was infamously known for. His dark eyes had a mad look to them.

_Was this the fury Madam was speaking about.._..?

"My dear, you are no fool. You have been given a gift, and you must nourish it, help it flourish and grow into something better than this world! You alone must do this. You will, and I cannot do much but listen to your voice as you have so listened to mine..."

Amelia was dumbfounded.

/A gift...? Does he think I have...something worth cultivating?/

"Sir...I do not think I have much to-"

He sighed frustratingly and bent down, grabbing her small hands in his.

Erik was looking at Amelia with an intense ferocity, a strength Madam had warned her about.

Should Amelia be afraid?

"You have everything , my dear. You are..."

She waited for him to finish but he shook his head, eliminated that thought. Erik was holding her hands still, gently as if they would shatter if they fell.

His thoughts were swarming like they usually were, tremulous and dark. Memories resurfaced in a flash, as much as he rather have them dead and thrown into an abyss.

Amelia could sense the change in his emotions, a charge in the air. She could feel it, barely but surely through his gloved hands.

"Monsieur Erik...?"

He lifted his eyes slowly.

_Hmmm...well, what an odd pair we make_.

"You are right, Monsieur. I will..."nourish" my storytelling. But I do hope that does not mean you have canceled your lessons. And after all this...I thought you would keep your word!"

Amelia stated mockingly, a smile creeping on his lips.

Erik snapped back, his pride in check.

"Doubt does not suit you, my dear."

"Neither sadness on you, Sir."

Amelia looked at him with a patience she knew she would need. This man was a complication, a puzzle that did not want to be solved.

Perhaps endurance would triumph.

He let go of the small hands. Erik walk across the room, stopping in front of the dark grand piano. He stroked it, his mind elsewhere.

Amelia knew this would be a difficult journey. But she would not give up.

She cared for this man, in what way she did not know for certain. Yet, Amelia would continue on.

"Monsieur, I was once told by my Foster mother that every human was a world unto their own..."

He glanced back slightly, his hands tracing curves into the wood of his instrument.

Amelia smiled, lifting herself up. She straightened her dress.

"You, however, are a universe."

...


End file.
